Trouble Pays
by BittahanWhiskey
Summary: readable now. Redownloaded b/c of the evil changes on ff.net. Story of two girls who can't stay out of trouble and reek havoc wherever they go. Entertaining, some sexual comments and doings included and lotsa violence. Updated 1/19/03
1. Playing with Boys

I had to redo this whole thing on ff.net because I rated it NC-17 after deciding that one scene in here was a bit over the rated R business, but now it's back to R. I lost all of my reviews in the process so please be nice and review! :) 

IF you are reading this right now, you have stumbled upon a very unlikely fic filled with violence, sex, suggestive comments (the whole way through) and overall a tale of two insane, sexy girls who can't seem to keep out of trouble. Please read and review, because Whiskey's been slacking for a month or two and won't write her next part and well, she needs motivation. Thank you very much. :) 

Disclaimer: The Disney characters belong to Disney DUH. And our characters belong to us. The others belong to them.

It was a bad time to live in Brooklyn, usually one of the safest places a newsie could call home, with Spot Conlon watching their back, had quickly been turned into an impromptu war zone, due to the ongoing territorial fight of Brooklyn vs. Harlem. Trick, Harlem's leader, was vicious and ambitious. His only goal in life, it seemed, was to take over Brooklyn once and for all. No one had ever dared to even think of going up against the Brooklyn newsies, the very thought of it sending people into a bad case of the nerves. It seemed almost impossible to even soak a Brooklyn newsie, nonetheless take it over completely. Their fearless leader, Spot Conlon, looked no more challenging than any of the newsies there, but he was the most feared newsie in all of New York and no one had challenged his right to the title until now. 

Trick was quite your basic evil looking guy, a tough build to his body, a towering appearance that was bound to chase any newsie off without him even having to lift a finger. He had blonde hair with unnatural streaks of black in it. But it was his icy light blue eyes that were his most intense facial feature, and anyone who had met him face to face knew that if looks could kill, they would already be dead. 

He had come out of nowhere it had seemed, just appeared one day and challenged the old leader of Harlem. The poor guy has not been seen ever since then. Trick asserted his dominance almost instantly, and then proceeded to start throwing people out of the lodging house in a matter of days. Their only transgression being that they were too weak or acted too emotional for his liking. They disappeared into the different boroughs, blending in as if nothing had happened, but none dared to go to Brooklyn. If they had been kicked out of Harlem for being too 'soft' there was not any way they would last a day on the hard streets of Brooklyn, under Spot's command. So Spot heard nothing about the problems in Harlem, not even his 'little boids' let him in on this information. 

He probably never would have found out, if it had not been for two of the Brooklyn's tough girls, Bitter and Whiskey. Now, these two girls were born troublemakers, and calamity seemed to follow them around every corner, but for the amount of shit the two were constantly getting into, they did not seem to mind one bit. Bitter was Spot's girl and logic might dictate that he would make her stay out of trouble, but the tough blonde-haired girl was much too stubborn to stay wrapped around his finger, much to his dismay, and she stayed stubbornly out of his control. 

It was one of those cloudy, rainy days and the two of them were perched on the roof trying to figure out what they would do with the rest of their day. Bitter's green eyes were filled with thoughts, looking more dangerous with each one she had, trying to decide what kind of trouble they should get in that day. She messed with the gray cap on her head, making her straight blonde hair fall down around her face. Her stocky, but built body shifted as she caught Whiskey's light green eyes glaring at her, clear as crystal. 

"So?" Whiskey asked roughly, "Ya think of anything? I'se gotta an idea, lets go depants a couple of unfortunates down at the docks, I mean it's not like dere pants are hidin' much from me prying eyes anyways, and den we'se can hide out in Manhattan and let dere anger simmer down a little. Manhattan's always a nice place ta reek a little general havoc, afta all, it's been near a week since I last saw Specs."

"I dunno bout de-pantsing da guys, didn't we do dat a couple a weeks ago? I think they've started ta invest in rope belts ta make sure that doesn't happen again..." Bitter trailed off, a grin flashing across her face at the memory. "An don't be tryin' ta pull a fast one on me, I'se know for a fact that two nights ago you didn't come back to the lh. Wheah were you that night, hmm?" she asked.

"Alright, alright, Specsy an I was sharing an intimate moment if ya really must know, and I was back before dawn. Nobody was the wiser, 'cept you. And dat's only because you ever so kindly left da winda open a crack foh me to squeeze in," she stated pointing threateningly in Bitter's direction, a look of indignation crossing her face, but her eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Specsy?!" Bitter laughed out loud. "Don't let Spot catcha talkin' like dat or he's liable to send ya packing straight back for Manhattan! No goily-goils allowed heah, or don't ya remember why it was you was shipped heah in da first place?" she finished, her laughter trailing off.

"You'se da only one dat knows about dat nickname and I'm expectin' you ta keeps it a secret! So, you got any bright ideas foh what we can do taday?" Whiskey asked as she swung her dangling legs back and forth against the building, staring out across the city.

Bitter thought for a moment or two and then turned to Whiskey with a wide, mischievous smile on her face. "I got a great idea," she said, her eyes glowing dangerously, "We could first off, go to Manhattan, raid the girls' closet for prissy dresses, dress ourselves up and then we seduce some tough looking newsies into a dark alley, making them think they're gonna get up our skirts and then teach them nevah ta think it again."

Whiskey lips curved up in a smile and nodded in agreement to the plan. "Ooo, I like da way dat sounds," she said approvingly and the two girls didn't waste any more time. They practically ran all the way to Manhattan, excited for what mischief their new idea could get them into. 

Bitter led the way through the Manhattan Lodging House, ignoring the few remarks and protests they got from the newsies there. Upon arriving, Bitter pushed her way through the glaring girls and straight to where a bunch of dresses were hanging up. She thumbed her way through the dresses and found a short blood red one that looked like her size and then found a dark brown one almost exactly like it and threw it at Whiskey. 

Ignoring the Manhattan's girls' yelling and protesting, they made their way to the bathroom and slipped on their dresses. Bitter found it to hug her curves just right, her larger body still having womanly curves, to her dislike. The dress was down to her knees, covering up the handmade dagger she had attached to her thigh. She twirled her body around, making sure that the dagger didn't bulge underneath her dress and give itself away. To her delight it did not and she looked over at Whiskey to see how she was doing. 

The brown dress looked stunning on her and Bitter's mouth dropped. "You should wear dat color more often," Bitter said, trying not to sound stunned. 

Whiskey just laughed nervously and tugged at the dress, wishing it would not be so tightly fit or so low cut. She then began playing with her hair, deciding to leave it down and releasing the auburn bun she'd been attempting to make, allowing her hair to fall on her shoulders in waves.

Bitter smiled, "Ya look fine," she muttered and then messed with her short hair, letting it down and fall a bit into her eyes, covering the dangerous look to her vivid green eyes. 

Whiskey finished herself up and then smiled at Bitter. "Ready," she anxious to put their plan into action. Bitter smiled and shoved their clothes in a bag and draped it over her shoulder. 

"Wait a sec," Whiskey stated as they were about to exit the lodging house. "Hey, Topsy you still got dat stuff ta make lips looks darker?"

"Yeah, Whisk," Topsy stated tossing it in her direction.

"Thanks!" Whiskey replied, as she walked back up to one of the mirrors and painted some of it on her lips. "Hmmm, poifect," she stated, smacking her more luscious lips in the mirror, then tossing the little tub and brush to Bitter.

Bitter frowned, scrunching up her nose. She was not a big fan of make-up. She began to protest when Whiskey threw her a threatening look. Bitter sighed and put some of it on her lips, glaring at Whiskey the whole time. "Happy?" she asked, tossing the tub and brush back to Topsy.

Whiskey just laughed and nodded, "You made me wheah dis, so you hafta wear de lipstick," she replied. Bitter just shook her head and dragged Whiskey out of the lh, it hard to be annoyed with her friend for long, especially when they were both up to no good.

Once outside, Bitter found a little hiding space for their bag of clothes and then the two girls started on their way, scanning the crowd. To their delight, two tall, tough-looking newsies were walking around, as if they were almost lost. Bitter nudged her friend and strolled over to them. "Hey boys," Bitter said in a sweet voice, "You look a little lost, but me an' Whiskey heah think we can show you de way."

Whiskey stifled a laugh at Bitter's corny pick up line and smiled seductively at the shorter of the two. "I don't know Bittah, dese two big strong men don't seem da type ta get lost. I think dey came heah lookin' foh exactly what dey found," Whiskey stated with a pouty smile and a singsong voice. The boys practically had their mouths hanging open and looked like a pair of idiots. _What feminine seduction can do to men_, Bitter thought to herself, laughing at them on the inside. 

"You boys from around heah?" Whiskey asked, taking a step closer to one of them. The boy stumbled over his words and he ran his hand quickly through his brown hair, trying to think of what to say.

The other, who had blonde hair and icy blue eyes, stared coolly at the girls, trying to look more intelligent than his companion and answered lightly, "We were jist lookin' fer something ta do," he said.

Bitter looked at Whiskey and winked. "Well, we can show you around the place," she said, moving up close to him and touching his chest softly. "Up and down the block," she whispered seductively in his ear. 

She watched his mouth drop and smiled, turning on her heel and striding into the nearest alley, motioning for the boys to follow, Whiskey following suit. She smiled at her friend who was close to giggling and then turned and pushed the blue-eyed boy up against the wall. "What's yer name?" she asked.

"Why?" the boy asked, looking suspiciously at her, his eyes getting icy.

Bitter trailed a finger down his chest, "So I can know what to scream later on tonight," she said.

The boy's eyes widened and he mumbled out his name a little too quickly at first and then had to repeat it, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Uh Trick," he said.

She smiled and nodded at Whiskey who was busy whispering sweet nothings to the boy as she slowly wrapped herself around his nervous frame. Bitter slowly put her hand down on her knee and began sliding the skirt of the dress up her thigh. His eyes widened with dirty thoughts flowing through his head.

Bitter grabbed her dagger from her thigh and put it up against his neck. She was fast and had him stunned. She took a step back and smirked at him. "I'll show you ta evah think I'd get in bed wid ya," she said, eyes glaring menacingly at him.

The brown-haired boy's thoughts cleared a little and his brown eyes furrowed as he realized the trouble that his friend was in. Whiskey chuckled at his concern as her voice returned to its normal deep, velvety tone, "Ah, ah, ah..." she scolded with a pout. "You wasn't thinkin' a goin' anywheah was ya? Because I'm sorry ta inform ya dat yer limbs are a little...twisted around mine, I really don't think you'se got a chance a getting them undone any time soon," Whiskey stated with a big smirk, playfully kissing him on the nose, a wicked and mischievous grin crossing over her features as the lust faded from his eyes and he realized that he truly was stuck.

"Did the two of yas really think you was gettin' any heah? Me wit me skirt up around me waist, my back poundin' against da wall a dis doity al' alley? Hell, ya didn't even tell me yer name," Whiskey stated with an overdramatic pout.

"Whatta take us fer?" Bitter asked.

"Common whores, dat's what dey took us for," Whiskey replied maliciously. "An' don't we look de part? But as you two found out, looks can be a little decievin'," Whiskey stated, shifting position so the boy was still restrained for the most part by her one arm and left leg as she made a scene of slowly reaching in between her breasts and taking out a switchblade. She opened the knife with a quick flick of her wrist and trailed it lightly down the ride side of the boy's face.

"What should we do wit dese two Whiskey?" Bitter asked, as she pressed the knife a little closer to Trick's throat, making breathing just a tad bit uncomfortable.

"I dunno," Whiskey said, making a small slit beneath the boy's chin, causing a small grimace to flicker across his face as he stubbornly refused to cry out. "Dere's a lotta things we could do," she said with a menacing grin.

Bitter nodded. "Hey Trick, ya got a knife?" she asked with a wide smirk. If there was one thing that Bitter was great at, it was fighting with a knife. It was the only part of her past that she found useful in a fight and used it often. Back when she lived in Chicago, she was part of a pickpocket gang called the Shadows and they were heavily involved with the famous knife fights that were occurring at the time. She was forced to learn to handle a knife correctly and found herself becoming quite skillful with the little dagger the leader of the gang had given her. When she had fled from Chicago, it was the only possession she had taken with her, not wanting to remember the horrid years she had spent there.

She saw Trick's blue eyes get viciously wide and a strange smile crossed his face. "That I do," he said coolly.

Bitter threw a glance at Whiskey and then let the guy go, thinking she could easily ruin his pride in a single knife fight. He impressively flicked out his switchblade, but his obvious skill only made Bitter feel a rush of adrenaline rush through her body as they began to circle each other.

Whiskey smiled, knowing how well Bitter could handle herself in a knife fight and turned her concentration to making the boy she was up against more nervous by the second as she slowly coursed the switch blade over his Adam's apple, letting it rest in the hollow of his throat. "Come on, you gonna scream for me? Beg me ta spare ya life? You was willin' ta let me do all the screamin' just a few moments ago," she stated wickedly as she tightened her hold on his arms, not wanting him to wriggle out of her grasp.

"One little slip an' yer poor little life is at an end," Whiskey whispered hotly in his ear. "Mmm, but then I'd get blood all over my dress, an we can't be havin' dat," she said as she kneed him hard in a most sensitive area and watched as his face crumpled in pain and he cried out a bit, going slack in her arms.

"Not ezactly the scream I was lookin' foh, but I guess a whimper's bettah den nothin'," she stated sadistically as she continued to whisper degrading comments into his ear, challenging everything from his masculinity to how quickly he let himself be taken in by simple feminine wiles. 


	2. Fight scene

Whiskey then turned to look how Bitter was doing. Bitter's body twitched with anticipation as she motioned for him to lunge at her and stepped lightly, ready for him to strike. He took a step towards her and she barely flinched, her eyes taking in his every movement and her body tensed ready for anything. He lunged but she dodged it quickly and as he spun to strike again, she stabbed him easily in the arm. He cursed and the look of pain on his face quickly turned to menace as he faked to her right and as she dodged the knife, he caught her off balance and pinned her up against the wall. He was quicker than she thought and she cursed at her carelessness. 

Trick pushed the knife against her neck and glared into her eyes. "Give me one reason I shouldn't take yer life right heah," he said roughly. Bitter could hear Whiskey gasp and turned her head slightly, but when she turned around again she felt her body hit the wall hard and the question repeated. 

Whiskey's demeaning comments were interrupted as she spotted Bitter getting thrown against a wall. The brown haired boy took advantage of her distracted state and kicked one of her legs out from under her, hoisting her up by the front of her dress and throwing her harshly against the wall he had previously been pressed up against. Whiskey's vision blurred as the base of her skull struck a brick that was protruding sharply from the rest of the wall. She exhaled deeply as the switchblade dropped from her hands. "Fuck me," she murmured in disbelief. 

"Ya nevah know, maybe dat'll be a possibility befoh da night is through," the boy stated as he twisted her arm at an unnatural angle causing her to sharply inhale. "Oh no, now it's time foh you ta scream foh me," he growled through clenched teeth as he continued to put stress the arm until Whiskey felt a pop and cried out sharply. 

Bitter's eyes glazed over with anger and she looked straight into Trick's icy blue eyes that stayed focused on her. "You'll be dead within de week if you or yer friend dere decide to lay a fingah on us," she spat out. 

Trick laughed, "An' why would dat be?" he asked, "Yer friend ova dere gonna come afta me?" 

Bitter's eyes narrowed dangerously and her eyes flickered to see how Whiskey was doing. She had progressed from being pinned against the wall to being crumpled on the ground, the boy standing over her and kicking her side hard as she silently endured the beating. "All a' Brooklyn'll be afta ya, me boy'll be mighty mad when he finds yer sorry ass," Bitter sputtered, her temper growing with the moment. 

"Oh really an' what is dis poor guy's name?" he asked, laughing wickedly. 

"Spot Conlon," Bitter said, glaring at him as he laughed. He stopped his light laughing as she spoke that name and his eyes flickered as he took in whom she was. "Oh really," he said with a smirk. "Hey Switch, we got a pair a' important goils heah, Mr. Conlon's goil Bittah an' her best friend Whiskey," he yelled over to the boy who was slowly reviving the unconscious Whiskey, no doubt to inflict some other pain on her. 

The boy smiled, "What we gonna do wit dem boss?" he asked. 

Trick smirked and brought the knife up to Bitter's cheek, cutting through it deeply. She let out a little cry, trying not to let tears come to her eyes as the pain overwhelmed her face. 

"Well, we could let ol' Spottie know we mean business," Trick said, half-laughing, "Maybe a kidnappin' an' a murder will make him hand Brooklyn ovah ta me."

Bitter's eyes widened as she took in what he had just said. The brown-haired boy smiled and dragged Whiskey up from the ground by her hair. "Can I do what I want wit her before I'se hafta kill her?" he asked, smiling cruelly at the dizzy girl he held before him. 

Trick smiled, "Go right ahead," he said, "Jist meet me back in Harlem before dark." The boy nodded and Trick started to drag Bitter out of the alley. She struggled and found herself wriggling free to her delight. She felt herself drop to the ground and then started to run towards the boy who was fervently kissing Whiskey's neck as she dazedly tried to get free of him. 'Christ if I only had me switchblade…and I wasn't seein' triples of everytin',' she thought as she tried to wrench her hands out of his grasp in an earnest attempt to bat away his harsh lips, finding her left arm pretty much useless. 

Trick shook his head and took off after Bitter as she neared Whiskey's struggling form, tackling her roughly to the ground. "Sorry sweetie, yer comin' wid me," he said, taking his knife and stabbing it deep into her fighting arm. She let out a yelp and could not help the tears streaming down her face. He pulled out the bloody knife and then dragged her up to a standing position. 

She spat at him. "Fuck off," she muttered, defiantly struggling to get back to help her friend. 

He smirked viciously and spoke roughly to her. "You bettah watch yer mannah's or you'll soon find out how many more ways a guy can hoit a girl," he said and gripped her wounded arm, dragging her towards the other end of the alley. 

"Mayor seen skinny dippin' in da nude!" a voice shouted loudly. 

"Wife disconsolate over discovery of da presence of a 'thoid party'!" a second voice joined in, echoing down the alley. 

Whiskey's head cleared for a moment as she processed the sounds. _Disconsolate? The only poison who would use that word was Specs_…Her chest puffed up with courage at this new discovery, and with a low growl she stomped on the foot of her attacker and screamed. 

"SPECS! JA…" she managed before a callused hand clamped down over her mouth. She licked his palm and felt him instantly recoil just a little. Taking advantage of that reaction she wrenching her head free from Switch's grasp and let out a gritty, blood-curdling scream. 

Trick dragged a stubborn Bitter to the other side of the alley, obscenities coursing out of her mouth a mile a minute as she slowed him as much as she could. 

Upon hearing Whiskey's unwavering declaration that help might be on the way, she bit Trick's hand as it followed Switch's example and attempted to clamp itself over her mouth. 

"You whore! You'll pay foh dat!" he screamed harshly as dug the knife into the same wound he'd already created and examined his bloodied hand. Bitter crumpled under the searing heat as he twisted the knife in the same wound, and went slack for a moment in his arms. 

The voices hawking headlines grew nearer and Bitter did the only thing that processed through the pain she felt and yelled. "Specs! Jack! Help!" she screamed gravely, feeling the back of Trick's hand connect with her temple and the world go in and out of focus. 

Meanwhile, Whiskey had managed to wriggle free of most of the pressure Switch was applying to her arm and threw herself backwards, knocking her attacker against the wall. She heard his head hit the bricks with a sickening cracking sound and his hand lose its grasp on her mouth. 

"SPECS!" she screamed once more, aware that he had realize who the desperate voice belonged to and come running. 

Sure enough two newsies blocked the filter of sunlight in the alley moments later, dropping their unsold papers at their feet when they saw the sight that lay before them. Whiskey was pressed face first against the brick wall, her hair held harshly in the hands of a dangerous looking brown haired boy who had retrieved her switchblade the last time she had tried to escape and was trailing it slowly up and down the side of her face as she had done to him earlier.

Specs' eyes grew wide with indignation at the sight and he ran towards the boy, knocking the knife from his hand and ripping him off of Whiskey. "You doity, no good sonnova bitch! I'll teach ya ta evah treat a woman like dat again!" Specs screamed with rage as Switch crumpled under the force of the blow Specs dealt him. He fell to his knees, promptly earning himself a swift kick to the ribs by Specs and then Whiskey, before she swooned. She grasped the onto alley wall to keep herself from collapsing. Specs was distracted for a moment and as he caught her arm, allowing Switch to stumble off the same way he had come, but with a mess of bruises and cuts. 

"Another step and the broad gets it!" Trick stated evenly and dangerously, his cold blue eyes icing over as he pressed the knife against the side of Bitter's throat as he saw his friend go down and Jack edging closer and closer to Bitter. Bitter had other plans in mind though as she snarled and twisted free of Trick's grasp, earning her a small gash on the side of her throat. Jack pulled Bitter behind him and eyed Trick coolly. "Ya bettah watch yer step Trick, ya mess wit Brooklyn, ya won't have no one on yer side," he stated. Trick smiled grimly and disappeared into the shadows and down the other side of the alley. 

"What the fuck took ya so long ya lousy sonnova bitch!?" Bitter asked enraged as she tended the nick she had just received as she leaned against Jack's form. "Any latah and I woulda been sleepin' wit da fishes ovah in Harlem aftah getting fucked by most likely every damn doity newsie dere, ya god damn worthless fuck!" she screamed taking all of the pent up aggression over Trick and turning it in Jack's direction causing him to stammer a reply and blush at her use of language. "Do I look like shark bait ta you?" she continued, raging, shaking her fist warily at the poor boy, "If I weren't so beat up I'd soak ya so bad, you'd wish you'd be dead, ya lousy no good sewer trash. An' let me tell ya Spot ain't gonna be too happy when he finds how hoit I am, an' he'll show you, you good for nothing king of de bastard scum."

Specs looked humorously over at Bitter, who was in the process of chewing out Jack before turning his attention back to Whiskey. "Damn Whisk, ya look like shit," he stated with a small smile as he held her back a bit and examined the cut that trailed down her neck and to her collarbone. 

"Thanks Specs," she chuckled deeply then grimaced as pain coursed up her left side from where she'd been kicked repeatedly. "Ya still remembah how ta set a couple a ribs?" she asked jokingly. "Because I think yer gonna have a yer work cut out foh ya tonight." 

"Coise I do," he replied sweeping Whiskey gently into his arms and kissing her tenderly. 

"Aw, enough wit da mush stuff, we'se got ta get back ta Brooklyn!" Bitter stated as she limped over to where Specs and Whiskey were single-mindedly absorbed in one another, using Jack as a crutch. 

She cursed the whole way, mumbling about how mad Spot was going to be and comically enough, Jack looked quite concerned about this whole matter. When they reached the Brooklyn LH he stalled for a few minutes, looking nervously at the building. Bitter pushed Jack out of her way and walked cautiously into the LH, hoping not to be seen by Spot until she got upstairs. 


	3. aftermath pains

To her dislike, there were newsies everywhere and before she could make it up the stairs, she found Spot slipping in front of her, a mixture of worry and anger in his face. When he saw her bleeding, his expression softened and he called some boys over and had the two girls carried into the private bedroom upstairs, which had been named the Infirmary, due to it getting used mostly for medical reasons. Whiskey protested the need to be carried, batting away the willing hands of Specs and Blue as she limped resolutely up the stairs to the room, pain coursing up her side with every step. She already thought she looked ridiculous in the scandalously ripped, blood soaked shirt and felt the need to save face somehow. Half way up the stairs however the pained look on Specs's face as he watched Whiskey clutch on to the banister with her one good arm caused him to defy Spot's original order and rush up the stairs, whisking Whiskey up the rest of the steps too quickly for her to utter any type of protest. 

Once both girls were in the infirmary, Bitter looked over at Whiskey, whom was still holding closely onto Specs by the hand and grimaced slightly at her friend's appearance. The form fitting brown dress had been torn down the side, revealing the bruised and bloodied ribs that were cracked at the least. Her eyes traveled upward and she noticed a couple of purplish bruises littered generously across her left breast and the nape of her neck, love bites that had not been there this morning. Whiskey also grimaced as she shifted her shoulder, roughly moving the arm that hung limply at her left side. Bitter cringed and Whiskey turned to her with a reassuring smile, revealing the long cut on the right side of her face. It traveled from her chin over her collarbone and to the middle of her chest, and although it had stopped bleeding, the deepest cut along her collarbone was sure to leave a pale scar in its wake.

Bitter took care not to look in the mirror next to her, knowing she looked awful. Her arm was bleeding everywhere and she knew she would have a visit later from Needle, a small boy who had an odd skill of sewing up knife wounds. Her head ached horribly and there was blood slowly dripping down the side of her face. Bitter soon found the nick on her neck to be a lot deeper than she had originally thought it was, and her head swarmed easily with how much blood she had already lost. 

She looked over at Whiskey as the boys placed her on a soft bed and smiled slightly, unsure of how Spot would later react to their story. After all, they were all dolled up, looking like common whores, and had invited the trouble they had found themselves in. Spot did not visit the room for at least an hour, but when he did Specs disappeared at his beckoning. The two girls were too busy trying to stop the boys from bandaging them up to notice though. The boys knew nothing of medicine and Bitter easily let them in on this well known fact.

Whiskey was just as eager to keep their hands off of her, waiting for Doc or Needle to work their magic. She glared evilly at any newsie that attempted to approach her with any form of medicine, and although she didn't say a word, the intensity of the glare in her crystal clear green eyes promised, pain, lots and lots of pain if any of the dimwitted assistants tried to lay a hand on her. She shot another dangerous glare at another boy who attempted to approach her and cracked the knuckles on her one good hand menacingly as she smirked at Bitter's distress.

"Get de hell offa me," Bitter screamed at a muscular boy who was trying to bandage the wound on her arm, accomplishing nothing due to his lack of brain-power.

The Brooklyn boys may have been tough, but most of them did not have enough brain cells to do much of anything in the way of helping the wounded. "Ya don't know what de hell yer doin'!" she yelled at him again, throwing a box of gauze at his head. He ducked and looked at one of the other boys for help. Whiskey watched amusedly as the boy who had been attempting to attend her made his way over to Bitter and basically had to sit on her to make her stop moving, so they could bandage her wounds.

They stopped all of the sudden, looking up at the door. A short girl with dark brown hair entered the room, her deep blue eyes glazing over the people in the room. Bitter smiled as she saw her and pushed the guy off of her. "Thank Gawd yer heah Doc, dese boys were tryin' ta kill me, I swear!" she said, glaring evilly at the boys.

Whiskey just chuckled softly at Bitter's antics. "Glad you'se heah Doc, I was havin' a hard time keepin' dese goons offa me, although dey wasn't tryin' ta kill me like dey was Bittah."

Doc glared at the two boys who were surrounding Bitter. "You, you give me dose supplies, I'm gonna need those and I don't want you wasting them in a half ass attempt ta patch dese two up, they're gonna need more than just a couple a bandages ta get them back in workin' order," Doc stated coolly, stepping away from her usually quiet demeanor as she asserted her dominance over the medical situation and shooed the two boys out of the room.

"Which one a you'se two wants ta go foist?" she asked as she re-rolled the gauze and looked over the two girls and mumbling softly under her breath.

"What's dat ya say?" Bitter inquired.

"I was just sayin' dat you was more of a case foh Needle, wheah as Whiskey heah needs ta get her shoulder slipped back inta place if the way it's hangin' limply dere is any indication," she stated as she placed her satchel of medicinal supplies on the bed next to Whiskey and left the room.

"She don't talk much but I shoir love it when she does," Whiskey commented as she closed her eyes and brought her one free hand up to her brow, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed as she fought to remain conscious. "She's got such a soothin' voice, she could tell me dat I wasn't gonna make it and I'd just nod my head an' ask her ta keep speakin'."

"You sure ya didn't hit yer head too hard on dat dere brick wall?" Bitter asked with a smirk as Whiskey looked over in her direction and glared. "What, I was just jokin', I just ain't evah hoid ya talk like dat befoh."

"Yeah well it's true, we might not a made it back dere, me especially! Remembah? I was da moider, you was da kidnappin'," Whiskey replied grimly as Doc made her way back into the room with a frail looking, pale boy with short black hair on her heels. His eerie calm permeated the room and reflected itself on all those present. His strange aura was almost soothing in a way. "Needle, you take Bitter, she's got a couple a really bad stab wounds, while I tend ta Whiskey heah," Doc stated as she gathered her satchel and supplies once more.

She made her way over to Whiskey's bed and sat on the edge of it touching Whiskey's bad shoulder tentatively before deciding on a course of action to take. Whiskey braced herself as Doc explained what would happen when she set her shoulder. "Shit!! Specs!" Whiskey screamed as Doc wrenched her arm back into its socket, missing it on the first try but successfully setting it on the second. "Oh fuck! Christsake Doc! You said dere would be some pressure and some pain but dat was an outright lie! Damn Doc, give it ta me straight next time, I mean, shit!" she stated her usually olive complexion losing its rosy glow and turning a ghastly white.

"So sorry," Doc said without emotion as she began tending to Whiskey's ribs, eliciting gasps as she set them too, none bad enough to elicit another call for her savior Specs, however.

Bitter was preoccupied with trying not to scream as Needle carefully stitched up the wounds on her face and neck. Once finished with those, Needle proceeded to tear the sleeve on her right arm off, revealing the deep, open wound that was causing Bitter much grief and discomfort. He mumbled something to himself and Bitter looked at him quizzically, knowing that if he was saying something, it had to be bad. He never seemed to speak, except for in the most abrupt ways. He knew knives, along with the wounds they gave people, like the back of his hand. No one knew where he had come from or why he had such an odd talent as sewing knife wounds and no one bothered to ask, knowing they would very likely not find out. He began by cleaning the wound and then sighed heavily as he looked at it closely. "Dis guy knows knives," he said barely above a whisper so that Bitter was the only one to hear him.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Needle was already starting to press his long needle into her wound, sewing it up, causing Bitter to wrench back in pain. She held her arm as still as she could and closed her eyes tightly. "Done," he muttered, gathering up his tools and heading towards the door.

Doc followed him out after finishing with Whiskey and almost ran straight into Spot on the way. Spot muttered a quick "thank you" to her and then entered the room quickly, sitting down next to Bitter, checking on how she was doing. Specs tailed him into the room and silently rushed towards Whiskey's bedside. He smoothed back her hair from the dampness on her brow and whispered words of encouragement into her ear, grasping her hand tightly.

"Aww, come on Specs, it takes more than a lil ol knife wound and a severe beatin' ta keep me down," she joked leaning forward and kissing him on the forehead. "Now, I'se sure Spot's got more den a couple a questions ta ask da two a us now dat we'se all in one piece again," Whiskey stated turning towards Spot who was sitting on the side of Bitter's bed.

"Yeah, an I'se got a couple a my own!" Specs stated concerned. "I saved yer life an' I'd like ta know how da hell ya got yerself inta dat situation ta begin wit!" he stated harshly, taking over Spot's position and heading the interrogation without knowingly doing so.

Bitter gave Whiskey a look of distress as Spot glared knowingly at her, raising an eyebrow. She sat up dazedly, ignoring Spot's gestures to lie back down again.

"Shall I explain or you?" Bitter asked, finding her friend's face go in and out of focus as she struggled to stay at a sitting position. Before she could answer, Bitter fell back on the bed, unconscious. Spot gaped, his mouth open, not knowing what to do.

"Damnit," Whiskey muttered, "Jist like her ta pass out on me, leaving me to tell everything."

Spot jumped up quickly and hurried out of the room, most likely to get Doc. Whiskey saw Bitter's body twitch a little and looked sweetly up at Specs, "Get me some watah Specs? I'se gettin' dehydrated," she said, actually looking quite pale. As he stood, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close. "An' maybe a little bit a liquor? I know you was wantin' me ta cut back an' all but my shoulder is drivin' me insane! An' Bittah dere ain't one ta turn down a shot of pain killah," she said with a groan as she let his sleeve go. Specs nodded indulgently and hurriedly left.

Bitter opened her eyes and smiled slightly at Whiskey. "Ya fakah," Whiskey said with a laugh. 

Bitter stifled a laugh and tried to sit up again, "I wish I was," she groaned, falling back. Whiskey watched her worriedly as Bitter's face scrunched up in pain.

"Spot went ta go get Doc, so don't worry, she'll make it all bettah," Whiskey said happily, trying to cheer her up. "Jist think, ya bought us some time wit de interrogation de boys are dying to put us through," she added, seeing Bitter fake a smile.

After seeing her friend fake a smile she sighed deeply. "Who am I kiddin'? We ah fucked. Royally. I mean what ezactly are we supposed ta tell dem dat won't hurt em? Dat we was dressed as cheap trollops in lip rouge and trampy clothes wit de intent to seduce da foist set a newsies dat crossed our paths? Oh, dat'll go ovah absolutely mahvelous lemme tell you! Specs'll turn an interestin' shade of violet an' Spot dere'll just hit da fan, no doubt cursin' up a storm!" Whiskey slurred, sleep making her eyelids heavy. She brought the fist from her good arm up and rubbed away the sleep. "Yep, we'se fucked."

"Nah, I'se thinkin' dat we can nurse dis whole sick bed thing fer all it's worth," Bitter said attempting to sit up again. Her face was etched with pain, and the cut down the side of her cheek only heightened the effect. "Christ dat's smarts!"

"Would you lay back down befoh ya hurt yaself! Don't make me go ovah dere an' sit on ya ta keep ya still because I will! Dead arm or no dead arm!" she threatened with half a smile.

"I'd like to see ya try," Bitter muttered under her breath, gently letting her body drop back down to a laying position. She struggled to get comfortable and then gave up on trying, throwing Whiskey a look of defeat. "Alright so maybe we ah fucked..." Bitter admitted grimly. "But dat don't mean we can't try and keep a shred a dignity about dis."

"Well, you'se got me full attention! Please, do share your insight," Whiskey stated sarcastically. She had lost all hope of this interrogation going smoothly as soon as Bitter had agreed that they were, to put it frankly, fucked. 


	4. Spot the softie

"Well, ya remembah what Trick was sayin' about Spot handin' Brooklyn ovah to him under, uh, special circumstances?" Bittah asked.

"How could I evah ferget...dose 'circumstances' was me moider!" Whiskey scoffed. "Although it seems odd, I mean, why da hell would anyone want ta take ovah Brooklyn is beyond me! Nothin' but stinkin' docks and hard streets."

"Exactly!" Bitter said enthusiastically. "Neither a us knew anythin' about Trick wantin' ta take ovah Brooklyn, or who da hell he was! But he seemed to think he was pretty important."

"Great, another unexplained piece ta da puzzle of what da hell we'se gonna tell dem..." Whiskey mumbled softly under her breath as she heard steps coming back towards the door. Bitter heard them too and feigned a faint as Doc and Spot walked in the room. Doc proceeded to look over Bitter's wounds and then ran smelling salts under her nose causing her to wake with a cough.

"Glad you'se could re join da ranks a da conscious," Spot stated sarcastically as Bitter came to. "So, you got anythin' ta tell me about?" He asked once more, glaring at Specs who made his way in right before Bitter began, juggling a bottle of bourbon and two full glasses of water. Whiskey gratefully chugged down the water and refilled her cup half way with bourbon and sipped the liquor.

Bitter threw Specs a grateful smile and sipped on her water, smirking at the impatient Spot. She let him pour her some liquor and stared at it for a moment or two. 

"It'll help de pain," Whiskey said with an encouraging smile, swigging another cupful. 

Bitter grimaced slightly and quickly shot it down her throat. Her eyes watered and she set herself back down on the bed, closing her eyes. Spot stomped his foot impatiently. It was not that he did not care for her, but he needed to know every detail of what happened and he needed it as soon as he could get it. See, what the girls did not know was that Jack had abruptly left after the girls were being taken care of, and suspiciously enough, Spot was enraged and confused, not knowing at all what was happening. All he had was the little snippets that Specs had told him. 

"What's de story?" Spot asked.

Bitter opened one eye to look at Whiskey who was busy drinking another cup of the liquor. She sighed heavily as she caught her friend looking at her and put the unfinished drink down and looked seriously at Spot and Specs. "Well, ya know us an' our dear little pranks we pull every once in a while," she started off, trying to buy time.

"More like de trouble da two of ya get inta every day," Specs muttered under his breath.

Whiskey glared at him and crossed her arms, looking to Spot for help. Spot glared at him as well and stated coldly, "Shut de hell up an' let de goil talk."

Before Specs could protest, Bitter chimed in a few words. "We'se went ta Manhattan an' were lookin' fer trouble. So we lured two tough looking newsies dat looked lost, an' were definitely not from de area, into an alley an' we well . . . caught 'em off guard an' started fightin'," she said, her voice scratchy and her eyebrows curving up in pain with every word she spoke.

"Whatta ya mean 'caught 'em off guard'?" Spot asked, his eyes icy as he slipped into his role as the hardened leader of Brooklyn.

Whiskey seeing the pain Bitter went through with every attempt at speaking hurried a reply. "Think about it Spot, when was da last time you evah saw Bittah and I in a dress, hm? Nevah. Heh, amazing what feminine wiles can do to a guy, eh?" she chuckled nervously as she watched both Specs and Spot put two and two together, their eyes growing wide.

"So, dat's why you'se was dressed up as common whores, well dat was me next question, thank foh answerin' it ahead a time," Spot stated, trying to keep his cool and get more info out of the two girls. "Go on."

"While we was uh, teachin' dem a lesson, you know just toyin' wit dem really...Bittah and da guy named Trick got into a knife fight. He was bettah den she expected an' she ended up pinned against da alley wall wit Trick holdin' a knife ta her. I heard her thud against da wall, got distracted, and was thudded in turn by me own boy," Whiskey explained as she downed another glass of bourbon.

"Ease up now, you'se a mean drunk sometimes," Specs stated concerned.

"Alright, alright..." Whiskey said handing over the bourbon glass and taking the water one instead. "But if ya ask me, da drunker ya get me da more detail I'll go inta..." 

After a moment of thought, Specs reluctantly handed the glass of liquor back into the expectant hands of Whiskey. "Thankye me little sex kitten," she hotly whispering in his ear a seductive grin crossing her face even in her current condition, as she enjoyed the slight blush that crossed his cheeks accompanied by his knowing smirk.

Meanwhile, Spot had been prying more details out of Bitter, who was attempting to speak without moving her face due to the pain of the cut and the tenseness of the stitching. Bitter's mumbled explanations and Whiskey beginning to slur would have been comical under different circumstances, but Spot was not in mood for humor.

"So lemme get dis straight, you'se two was out seducin' a couple a newsies, then threatened and toyed wit dere egos befoh gettin' yer asses kicked because you were distracted, am I correct?" Spot asked rhetorically, his face turning the crimson color Whiskey had predicted. "And dis fella named Trick thought that wit Whiskey's murder an' Bittah's kidnappin' I'd hand ovah Brooklyn to him?"

"Yeah, but neither a us know who the fucker is!" Bitter stated, exasperated.

"What does dis Trick look like?" Specs asked tentatively, earning him a small glare from Spot.

Whiskey did not seem to notice as she rattled off the description, partially, reverting to her native Scottish accent as she usually did when she had had too much to drink. "Oh, 'E were a handsome devil! Lit blue eyes wi' a dangrus glint ta em an' black streaks a runnin' dun hid lit blond 'air. Bit o' a heidcase, I dannae rememba much else. Ask Bittah, she wi' da one gettin' up on 'im," Whiskey stated, taking her eyes off of Specs' smirking face and catching a glance at the extremely confused Spot. "Look at ye staundin' there like a glaikit airse! Ye've nae understan' a word I said?" she asked Spot, whose face scrunched up questioningly. "'E's a daft fecker idn't 'e?" she whispered to Specs, her slurred Scottish lilt nearly incomprehensible, as Spot turned to Bitter for a translation.

Bitter smirked at Whiskey calling Spot a 'daft fecker' and a 'glaikit,' or empty-headed, 'airse.' She was in rare form tonight and Bitter silently looked over at the nearly empty bourbon bottle. Turned towards Spot with the smirk she described Trick in the same words Whiskey used, leaving out the derogatory comments.

"Dat sounds like the self proclaimed leadah of Harlem," Specs interrupted again as Whiskey complacently sat there. "He's been kickin' da 'soft' newsies out a Harlem fer a couple of months now. Manhattan's been gettin' some recruits lately."

"Everything's makin sense now," Spot stated pacing back and forth as he pensively digested the information.

"Aye, an if'n Ah evah see 'im again ah'll malkie tha fecker!" Whiskey slurred, her green eyes taking on a dangerously reckless appearance as she attempted to sit up, moving her arm too harshly and nearly blacking out.

"Is she speakin' English!?" Spot exclaimed.

"She said she'll moider da fucker. Da same thing I'm gonna be doin' if I evah lay hands on dat bastard again!" Bitter stated maliciously.

Specs tried to calm Whiskey, but just succeeded in pinning her to the bed. She had soon cooed her way into his arms through sedate and whispering promises of what they would do once she healed into his ear as she faded into sleep.

"No more questions," Bitter said, her energy running low and talking becoming awfully painful for her. 

Spot nodded and Specs left them alone reluctantly, as Spot yelled at him to get back to Manhattan. He could not argue Spot into letting him stay the night and soon disappeared. Bitter looked up at Spot, a bit frightened by the harsh tone he had been using all day. 

Spot's rough statement dropped to one of love and caring as he looked over Bitter. She was incredibly worn out from the fight, the interrogation not helping. He took her hand into his and smiled lightly as she attempted a smile. "I'm sorry Bittah," he said quietly. 

He hushed her when she tried to say something and continued. "I love you, an' I'se sorry I had ta put ya through dat all, but it was important. This Trick character . . ." he faded off, shaking his head. 

"If I evah meet 'im, he's gonna wish he was dead fer laying a fingah on ya," Spot said angrily. Bitter squeezed his palm lightly, growing weaker by the second. He calmed himself and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Bittah, if anything had happened to you today, I don't know what I would've done," he said sadly, his eyes glowing with concern. 

She smiled, her green eyes starting to tear up. Her face started to pale more and Spot knew she needed her rest. "Want me ta stay?" he asked, as he let go of her hand, getting up.

Bitter nodded slowly, becoming overwhelmed with pain and tiredness. He pulled over a big chair next to her bed and curled up in it, watching her as she slowly lost consciousness. He touched her cheek lightly with his lips as she slept. "I love you," he whispered. The edges of Bitter's lip twitched as he said that and he smiled in turn, leaning back in his chair and watching over her as she slept, like a guardian angel.

~ ~ ~


	5. Rounding up the girls

The week went harshly by, and no matter how hard the two girls tried, they were not let out of the room, nor were they told why everyone around them lost their air of confidence and began acting nervously. Finally, the two were well enough and fed up with being stuck in the Infirmary. Bitter crossed her arms defiantly. "Spot, if ya don't unlock dis door, so help me Gawd, I will break it down!" she yelled through the door. She could just imagine him sitting on the other side of it, shaking his head in disagreement. 

Whiskey nodded at her from where she sat, her ribs still a bit tender. Bitter braced herself and started kicking the door. Now, one would think that anyone smart enough would just pick the lock, but see, Bitter knew that Spot had her figured out, so she had to have a diversion. While she was lightly kicking the door, or rather, lightly for her, she was working diligently on unlocking the lock. 

Whiskey watched Bitter's process amused, throwing in a few kicks when the urge struck her. Sure enough, the kicking stopped and the girls could hear Spot call out from the other side. "I told ya ya couldn't knock it down," he said.

Bitter smirked, her green eyes getting a dangerous glint in them as she slowly twisted the knob, and then shoved the door out. Whiskey laughed as she heard a cry from the other side of the door. Sure enough, the voice belonged to Spot and Bitter was bent over him, snickering and trying to look worried at the same time. 

"I hate ta interrupt ya, but as amusing as watching the leadah a Brooklyn lyin' flat on his ass, I'se anxious ta see what's happenin' heah," Whiskey said, tapping Bitter on the back. 

Bitter straightened up, smiling and waving at Spot as they left the hallway and went to inspect the lodging house. Every thing seemed pretty normal until they got up to the bunkroom. Whiskey flung open the boys' bunkroom door and both girls stood shocked at the sight that lay before them.

There were at least five different boys that were soaked horribly, each attended by a different person. It was an unprecedented sight for the Brooklyn Lodging House and both girls' jaws dropped at the sight.

"Airight Spot, you'se got a lotta explainin' ta do," Bitter stated as Spot walked into the room behind the two. Whiskey eyed the two expectantly as Spot straightened up and looked Bitter straight in the eye. She had seen the two fight before, and it was never a pretty sight.

"You can probably figure it out foh yerself. Dese boys look a lot like you an' Whiskey a week back, don't dey?" Spot asked, a cold edge to his voice as he faced off against Bitter.

"Don't be gettin' smart wit me! You'se in enough shit as it is, lockin' up two a yer best fightahs foh a week. Second day in an' we was healed enough ta get back out dere!" Bitter stated, closing the distance between her and Spot.

Spot growled a whisper. "You could barely stay conscious let alone face off against da same fuckahs dat put you in dat bed."

By now every face in the room had been turned in their direction, eager and a bit apprehensive about what would go down between the two. The fights between Bitter and Spot were legendary among the Brooklyn newsies. Nobody would even dare attempt breaking up the two after they got into it, and the only person who could keep them from killing each other at times was Whiskey, who surprisingly played the 'voice of reason' while the two fought.

"Maybe we should take dis somewheah else," Spot stated, glaring at Bitter's defiance.

"Anythin' you'se got ta say can be said in fronta da people who are layin' heah, busted up an' bruised on yer behalf," Bitter countered with a smirk.

"Wouldn't want da morale a da troops ta drop now would we?" Spot stated with finality, exiting into the adjacent, closet sized area that served as his personal room. Bitter followed silent and disgruntled. As soon as the door shut all of the newsies let out the collective breath they had been holding, relieved that the two would work it out behind closed doors. Whiskey however was even more apprehensive now that the two had taken it behind closed doors, especially when the heated whispers exchanged between the two grew into a full out screaming contest.

"Christ, dey're gonna kill each udder," Whiskey stated grimly, cringing as she heard a huge crash and something that sounded like glass breaking. "Damnit! They ain't gonna have any furniture left in dere by the time those two are through..." 

With a final crash, Bitter came storming out of the room, Spot nowhere in sight. Crossing quickly across the room, she harshly grabbed Whiskey's arm and dragged her out of the room and down the stairs to the street. Whiskey complacently followed her friend, knowing that Bitter would explain everything to her as soon as they'd put enough space between them and the lodging house.

After five minutes of running through winding back streets, Bitter slowed. "So, you gonna tell me just what da hell you did back dere? I didn't see Spot runnin' out afta ya..." Whiskey trailed off, flashing Bitter a slight glare at the shit she knew they had just gotten themselves into.

"Spot was bein' a controllin' bastad, things escalated, I broke dat vase I gave him ovah his head and high tailed it outta dere," Bitter explained calmly.

"Holy shit!" Whiskey stated, a fit of hilarity taking her as she tried to keep a straight face at the news. "So, uh, what are we doin' now? We off ta single handedly stop Harlem from their reign a terror?"

"Hmm, I didn' really have a plan in mind at da time...but dat don't sound too bad," Bitter stated, contemplating Whiskey's suggestion. "Afta all, we both owe dat sonnova bitch some payback..."

Whiskey's whole face lit up at Bitter suddenly agreeing to her suggestion. "Well den what da hell are we standin' around heah foh, lets formulate some kinda plan an soak dat fucker! Maybe if we get ta Manhatten quick enough we can enlist da help of me main man Specs. He ain't dat good wit a knife, but he's one helluva good fistfightah!"

Bitter smirked, "I dunno Whiskey, I ain't in de mood to see anuddah guy unless I'se punchin' 'is face in," Bitter said, reluctant to involve any guys at all. 

Whiskey frowned, "Well, we need back up me dear," she stated as they neared the edge of Brooklyn. 

Bitter stopped suddenly, a wide smirk crossing her face. "What about our girls?" she asked, with an eyebrow raised.

Whiskey laughed, "Ya got an idea there," she said, thinking about the tough Brooklyn girls. "Jist wheah would we find dem, dey weren't at the lh," Whiskey said after some thought. 

Bitter looked at her crazily. "Oh, c'mon, you know very well wheah dey are, de bar, hello, what else would dey be doin' at dis hour?" she stated, grabbing Whiskey's arm and heading towards the local bar.

Whiskey stepped through the haze of smoke that permeated the air, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Even compared to the few streetlights on the dark street outside, the bar was still dimly lit.

"Well wouldja look at dat!" Whiskey stated, pointing at a couple secluded in a dark corner of the bar. Bitter's eyes narrowed as she tried to make out who the two figures were and why Whiskey was so worked up over seeing them.

"Dat's Needle an' Doc! And dey're both talkin'!" Whiskey stated, an amused and surprised look crossing her face. "Never thought I'd live to see da day dat Needle willingly carried on a conversation wit another person!"

"Yeah, good fer dem," Bitter stated.

"Now promise me dat whole 'I hate men' thing ain't gonna apply ta our Needle ovah dere, because I might have to restrain ya from hittin' him, he healed your arm after all..." Whiskey stated, trailing off as the corner of Bitter's mouth turned down in a frown as she watched the petite figure of Doc as she held hands Needle, who looked happier than he had been the entire time Whiskey had been at the lh.

"Yeah, yeah, let's just look for da goils. I ain't interested in beatin' Needle...feel like I'd break 'im or somethin' wit just one blow," Bitter said with smirk, leading Whiskey, who was still grinning like an idiot, to the other side of the bar. Two girls' were staring each other down from across the table. Both with matching looks of determination that was due more to the liquor they had already consumed than actual courage, they had already begun drinking and were in a feel-no-pain state as each lit a match and let it slowly burn down to their fingertips, seeing who would drop it first.

"Well, well, well, if it idn't my favorite little pyros at work!" Bitter stated pulling up a chair and watching the two sweat it out as the match burnt closer and closer to their finger tips. Before either of them could be declared the winner Whiskey walked up to the table, made a big scene of overdramatically licking the index and thumb on both her hands and snuffing out the two matches, much to their disappointment.

"What da hell'd ya do dat foh?!" the grey eyed girl with short curly black hair yelled indignantly as she downed the rest of her beer in one gulp.

"Yeah, Fade an' me was in da middle a somethin' Whisk!" the fiery auburn haired girl stated lividly, rising to her feet and looking Whiskey straight in the eye.

"Problem 'ladies'?" a masculine joked.

"Fuck off Skittery...dis is between Whiskey an' me!" Pyro stated as she watched her boyfriend, Skittery step out of his place in the shadows, his trademark scowl plastered across his face.

Whiskey tried to control the fit of hilarity that hit her. "No. Dis is between Bittah an' me, an' all of you'se!" she stated genially, putting a hand on Pyro's shoulder companionably and pressing her back into her chair.

"Now, Bittah an' I has got a little proposition for yas!" she stated excited, looking around at who was present. "Skittery, go away. And take Dutchy dere wit ya! Wait, would ya tell Specs something for me?" she asked, leaning in close and whispering the message into his ear. Skittery shot Whiskey a confused, skeptical look.

"No problem, I don't even want to know what you'se are plannin'," he stated with a scowl, shaking his head and pulling Dutchy away from the lap of Winter, who was looking quite disgruntled her brown eyes flashing angrily.

"Aw, don't get all bent outa shape on me! Anyone else heah besides you three?" Whiskey asked.

"Yeah. Doc an' Needle are ovah in da corner. Spades and Blue are occupying the more, uh, dimly lit corner on da opposite side a da room, an Rook's drinkin' alone at da bar," Winter said, pointing out each set of people in turn.

"Shit. Blue is heah?" Bitter asked, trying to spot him without being seen. "Alright, dis is gonna take a little more tact than I thought at first. Spades would be a nice edition...but I ain't gonna risk nothin' wit Blue ovah dere, he's Spot's right hand man afta all, and we stompin' all ovah Spot's authority heah." 

Whiskey snickered softly, "So, dat means we goin' widout Spades?" she asked, looking over the situation. Bitter sized up the situation while Whiskey took care of dragging Rook out of her solemn corner of the bar. 

"I got a plan," Bitter said suddenly. "Whiskey, Spades' still has dat ol' apartment buildin' she uses every once in a while, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," Whiskey said, not understanding where Bitter was going to go with it. Before she could ask, Bitter was already running off to the couple's booth. While walking there, she grabbed a beer from the bar, ruffled up her hair, tore her sleeve and bit down hard on her lip to make it bleed to make the scene go smoother. As she neared the booth, she began a little stagger, and was pleased to see that she had the couple's full attention. 

Bitter almost could not hold back a laugh as she saw Blue's worried expression on his face and knew the plan was going to work like a charm. "Mind if I sit?" she asked.

They both shook their heads, stunned, and she took a seat across from the pair. She smiled drunkenly at the shocked newsies and stared at them. "What, do I got a boogah hangin' from me nose?" she asked. Spades tapped Blue's hand as he opened his mouth to speak and gave him a look. "Bittah, ya ok, I mean, what happened?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

Bitter laughed, "Oh, I see, I don't look dat beat up? Do I? Well, me an' Spot got in a fight again, I saw all de boys hoit an' well, we had a little talk. Dat's why I came ovah heah, I uh, I was wonderin' if I could stay in dat apartment ya have fer a night. I kinda well, I broke a vase over Spot's head an' well I don't think he'll be too happy when he regains consciousness," she said with a nervous glance towards the door.

Even for it being a dark corner, Bitter could see Blue's eyes bulge and the edges of his lips twitch. Spades felt it too and shoved him knowingly. Blue apologized quickly and left. Bitter watched him leave, ignoring whatever Spades was trying to tell her at the moment.

Once gone, Bitter let out a deep sigh of relief. "Airight, I'm fine, stop yer jabberin', ya know I woulda nevah distoibed ya unless it was important," she said, shutting Spades up. Her hazel eyes frowned at Bitter, as she had just interrupted her night of romance. "Airight, well, you know what happened ta me an' Whiskey, well, we've decided to take things into our own hands an' well, I thought we'd need ya fer our lil' rumble in Harlem tanight," she said with a devious smirk crossing her face.

Spades shook her head. "Fine, you know me, I'm in. Jist lemme finish me beer," she stated. She could not help but grin at the excitement of getting Harlem back for all the trouble they had been causing lately. Bitter crossed her arms impatiently and waited for her to gulp down the drink. As she took the last sip, Bitter dragged her up by the arm and pulled her towards the waiting girls, who were watching Whiskey talk to Doc.

Bitter pushed them all out towards the door and waited for Whiskey and Doc. Doc went past them, a little bit mad to be disturbed on her evening off, but still in good spirits as the others were. "So what's de plan?" Bitter asked Whiskey as they walked towards the bar door.

"Well, Doc's gonna pretend like she's gonna treat someone, we'll ambush, den soak 'em, an' den off ta Manhattan," she said, enthusiastic about the last part.

Bitter groaned out loud. "Whiskey, ya know me an' Jack hate each other, ever since I soaked dat damn Sarah goil," she said, whining a little.

"Yeah, well I'se on decent terms wit da bastad, so we'll jist sneak ya in da back, because gettin' unda dat bastard's skin is one a me favorite past times!" Whiskey said with a wicked grin, pushing the door open.

Bitter shook her head. "Ya love me, don't cha?" she muttered under her breath, a small smirk on her face.

"Wait a second!" Pyro said drunkenly, her face full with excitement as she and Fade ran off towards the bartender, leaving the rest of the group dumbstruck with the door ajar. As Fade distracted him flirtatiously, Pyro proceeded to steal a large bottle of liquor off of the shelf, hiding it to the side of her as she calmly exited the bar, Fade following a minute or so after.

"I don' know why da hell you need dat Pyro, but it bettah be foh more den hittin' someone ovah da head wit!" Spades stated with a laugh as she lit up a cigarette.

"Be careful, dese boys are knife fighters, an' well, if ya get in trouble, get de hell

outta dere, I don't want any deaths, fatal injuries, an' I definitely don't wanna be carryin' anyone outta dat hellhole," Whiskey stated to the anxious girls. All of the girls rolled their eyes and threw in some comments about whose corpses were gonna be found tonight as they started on their journey to Harlem.

~ ~ ~


	6. Fight scene! Yes yet another one

"Shut ya damn mouth!" Whiskey whispered with a scowl at Pyro, who was still talking excitedly, and a tad bit drunkenly, to Fade as they neared the Harlem Newsboys Lodging House.

"Alright, christsake!" Pyro stated quietly as everyone watch Doc walked off towards the entrance of the lh. One of the lower level Harlem boys opened the door and she was halfway in when Trick threw his arm across the entrance and glowered. This display of dominance barely phased Doc, as she was used to dealing with his macho side due to all the times she had visited, and she amiably struck up a conversation with the hesitant Trick. 

"Damn I wish I could heah what dat bastad's sayin'!" Bitter muttered, cursing softly to herself as she watched Trick regard Doc coldly, obviously suspicious over why she was there.

Whiskey's excitement over the upcoming brawl was getting the best of her and a huge grin was plastered across her face as the adrenaline started to course through her veins. "Alright Pyro, go work your magic!" she whispered eagerly, ushering Pyro to go cause a little 'distraction' that would catch the members off guard while Trick was absorbed with talking to Doc.

The short girl slinked off into the shadows and around the side of the lh until she was right under the half-open window to the common room. The girls all watched anxiously as Pyro fetched an empty coke bottle from the pile of trash nearby and proceeded to pour some of the liquor into it. She then lit a match and crept both the match and bottle quickly up to the side of the window; she only had one chance to get it right and the timing was going to have to be perfect. With a sadistic grin, she threw the lit match into the bottle and broke it over the inside ledge of the window. 

"Dat's our cue!" Whiskey smiled, watching as a look of panic crossed over Trick's face as he rapidly retreated into the common room, where shrieks could be heard.

Diversion successfully created, Pyro rushed to join the rest of the Brooklyn girls who were already leaving their places in the shadows across the street and hurrying towards Doc, who was holding the door open for them. All armed with their choice weapon, or just good old fists, they filed in and began taking out newsies left and right.

Before Bitter could get in the door, Whiskey pulled her aside. "Doc needs one of them," she said, looking at her bulging pockets knowingly.

Bitter smirked and pulled up her shorts' leg, revealing a short knife with a huge handle. "I brought an extra, it's got a heavy handle 'cause I know she prefers dat," Bitter said.

Whiskey shook her head. "Damn, how many you got on you?" Whiskey asked.

Bitter smirked, pulling out a switchblade, flicking it open and dragging Whiskey through the door with her, straight into the action. "I got one of dese in each four a me pockets, knife attached ta me back, small dagger on me ankle, and my normal dagger," she stated, giving the knife to Whiskey, who nodded a 'thanks' and then quickly taking out a newsie who got in her way.

"Damn, I knew ya prepared foh rumbles, but seven different knives?" Whiskey stated, taking out her two switchblades and flicking them open.

"Let's just call it experience," Bitter said, shrugging, and quickly kneeing a boy in the stomach. He went down quickly but grabbed onto her leg and bit down hard. Bitter winced, but did not waste a second, stabbing the boy quickly in the shoulder, leaving the blade there, knowing that if she even tried to get it out, she would have a serious problem on her hands. The last thing she wanted to do was waste her time on a less skillful newsie. 

She turned to Whiskey with a wide smile. "See? Experience," Bitter said, grabbing a switchblade from the next pocket over.

Whiskey rolled her eyes, "Whatevah. Keep safe. I'll see ya when dis is done, alley, one hour at most," she said. 

Bitter nodded in agreement, "Yeah, but I'se suah I'll see ya before den," she said with a smirk, quickly disappearing into the crowd of fighting newsies.

Whiskey scanned the frenzied crowd, looking for Doc. She spotted her at the complete opposite side of the room, being boxed in by two small, but mean looking newsies. Calm as ever, Doc glared as the two slowly tried to corner her, throwing punches left and right, trying to keep her guard up. Whiskey weaved through the crowd aggressively, knocking one of her smaller opponents flat on his ass, but not bothering to keep him down there permanently. Her only objective was to reach Doc before those goons got a hold of her. _Shit, I ain't gonna make it in time! God I hope she don't back up any quicka_, Whiskey thought as she flipped the heavy handled dagger in her hand so that she was holding the flat of the blade between her thumb and finger.

She reeled back and violently flung it into the wall, a foot back from Doc's body. "Doc! Dag!" she cupped her hands, yelling over the din, a useless gesture considering Doc had already spun backwards and retrieved the dagger, after hearing it thud resonantly in the wood. 

Knowing that Doc could fend for herself, Whiskey took out her own blades, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on the man she was looking for. Switch. Her hand rose subconsciously to the scab over her collar bone and she grimly began her way back across the small common room. _Dat fucker's goin down._

She passed just about every one of the girls they had brought with them on the way over, her eyes only sparing them a single glance as she determinately trekked across the room. Winter was absorbed in a three on one battle, her wooden staff that doubled as a walking stick flying out in measured, precise strikes, leveling one of the newsies with a single blow. Her brown eyes glinted dangerously and the metal adornments in her hair made her look even more intimidating.

Turning her gaze back to Switch, she let out a low growl and walked at a quicker pace towards him, only to be halted by a long stream of fire, shooting by right in front of her path. She jumped back quickly, raising the twin switchblades defensively and slashing them in a cross motion, leaving a slash across the fleeing Harlem newsie's chest, whose clothes were already scorched as he dropped to the floor in agony. Whiskey smirked sadistically as she watched him squirm, and then kicked him twice to shut him up. Pyro rushed over, a flaming chair leg in one hand and the half used bottle of whiskey in the other. "Shit, Pyro! You tryin' ta singe da hair off a my head a somethin'?!"

Pyro guffawed. "Damn, you mean I missed?" she asked with a cryptic smile as she drunkenly weaved her way back through the crowd, using the chair leg to club anyone in her path.

"Heya sweets, didja miss me?" Whiskey asked as she came upon Switch and Spades duking it out. Spades was holding her own, although her face was in much worse shape than Switch's. Whiskey growled lowly. "He's mine Spades," she stated venomously, roughly pushing Spades out of the way and taking her place. Spades looked pissed off as she hit the wall from the push, and leaned against it for a moment, glaring at the two, who were circling each other, their blades glinting menacingly under the dim lights of the lodging house. With a final "fuck you," directed towards both Switch and Whiskey, Spades sucked the blood off of her split lip and went off to help out Fade who had a small group of newsies circling her, with only a pair of brass knuckles to protect her.

"Long time no see dollface!" Whiskey stated sarcastically as she lunged at him with both blades, causing him to jump backwards to avoid being speared. He spun at the last moment and sent his own blade down, aiming for Whiskey's shoulder, a wound she narrowly avoided. 

"You'se lookin' gorgeous as always Whisk, although I do think I preferred ya wit dat pretty skirt a yours up around ya waist," Switch stated sarcastically after several more moments of hit and miss maneuvering, "Ya know, we can always finish up what we started back dere in da alley, I'd be more den happy ta make ya scream my name." The comment caught her off guard and her face flushed at the statements. Lunging violently at him once more she felt the error in her move almost instantly, but there was no way she could have prevented what was to come. 

Switch snatched one of Pyro's discarded chair legs from its position on the table behind him and swung it like a club at Whiskey's outstretched daggers. One of the blades twisted backwards, earning her a couple of bloody knicks while the other was knocked clean out of her hand, skidding halfway across the room. She stumbled off balance, her hands aching all over. Stepping backwards at the force of the blow, a look of shock characterized her features as Switch grabbed on to a lock of her hair and savagely cut it off so it lay somewhere around her chin rather than at her shoulders as she switched the blade from her injured hand to the unwounded one. "Now at least it's a fair fight," he stated, twirling the lock around in his fingers, then depositing it in his front pocket dramatically. 

"You'll pay foh dat, rat bastad sonnova whorin' bitch," she cursed vehemently, raising her hand to the space where her lock used to be, leaving a trail of blood in its wake, as she avoided his knife and kicked him swiftly in the knee, using the injured hand to punch him square across the face. "Yes, you'll pay."

Meanwhile, Bitter was making her way around the lodging house, trying to find Trick, who seemed to have disappeared out of thin air. She had already used up all of her switchblades, some broken, some stuck in the limbs of passed out newsies. She worked through a crowd of boys rushing at her with her fists, only retrieving the knife on her back when two flicked out blades of their own. 

She had no problem taking them out and scanned the room for Trick again. She was set on getting him back for putting her in a bed for a week. She ducked, just missing the back swing of Winter's wooden staff, slipping around a crowd that Fade and Spades had taken on diligently. She spotted her opponent lunging at a girl who had her back to Bitter. 

She scurried towards the pair, her fellow newsgirl obviously in trouble. Rook stumbled backwards drunkenly, baring her teeth at Trick, her fists ready, but no match for his blade. Bitter watched as Trick caught her under the chin with his blade and heard Rook yelp, making Bitter only pick up her pace. A tall muscular boy stepped in front of her and Bitter glared at him, swiping him across the arm, hoping it would make it move aside. She brushed past him, but he caught her arm and pulled her close to him, making her drop her knife as he twisted her arm, "You're gonna pay goily," he said roughly. 

Bitter narrowed her eyes, looking back at Rook who was helplessly being cornered by Trick. "A little help?" she yelled. Pyro smiled and scorched the top of his head with her makeshift flamethrower. The goon dropped her and Bitter yelled a 'thanks' before running off to help Rook. 

Bitter pulled out her dagger and kissed it gently as she approached Trick from behind. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Miss me?" she asked with a smile.

He turned around slowly, smiling viciously at her. "Oh very much, would ya like ta dance tonight me dear?" he asked, cocking his knife as they began to circle.

Bitter smiled, "I hope you can keep up," she said, nodding for Rook to leave. Rook nodded a quick thank you and ran off, leaving them to fight on their own.

"Oh, I think I will be," he said, eyes flickering as he saw his right hand man down on the ground. Whiskey was standing over him, kicking him hard over and over. 

Bitter looked over at Whiskey and smiled, "Looks as though Whiskey got her revenge," she said.

Trick glared icily at her. "Don't worry my dear, ya won't be getting' yer victory tonight. I'll make suah of dat," he said, lunging at her. She dodged it easily and caught him on the cheek. He licked the blood away, his eyes watching her body as she moved around.

She faked a lunge and then went to lunge for his other side. He predicted the move easily and grabbed her fighting arm, twisting her wrist back while taking the dagger away from her. He held her in front of him, arms locked behind her so she could not move as he admired the dagger. "This is quite a piece of work," he said, admiring it. 

She snarled at him, "It's done many a work on other people too," she said, struggling under his hold.

He smiled, pressing the dagger up against her neck. "It fits you, and your body," he said, moving his other hand around her body and feeling slowly up her shirt.

She snarled, "Bastard," she muttered, digging her elbow hard into his stomach, making him release one of her arms. She twirled around and punched him hard across the face, grabbing her dagger from his hand and backing up a few steps.

He laughed, "Aw, I thought you'd like dat," he said with a laugh, flicking out his blade again, "Afta all, you'se seemed willin' a week ago."

"Don't flatta yerself!" Bitter stated, motioning for him to lunge and he did, missing her purposely and catching her on the shoulder blade. She punched his knife away as he cut her shoulder open, cutting her hand open too as it blazed up against the blade of the knife, but it was worth the pain to watch the knife fly across the floor of the room. 

Trick's blue eyes iced over as he watched the knife disappear under the crowd of people fighting. She smiled as she watched his eyes follow after the blade and smirked. "Well, well," she said, cocking her dagger and stepping towards him. 

He did not wait a second more, switching out another blade and dodging her lunge, turning around and pressing her up against the wall, punching her hard across the face, making her cough up blood.

"Well, well," he said, mocking her, cocking his knife as he slammed her arm against the wall, trying to make her drop the dagger.

She glared at him, keeping a tight grip on the dagger. He twisted her wrist and pushed his face up to hers. "Wouldn't want me ta break yer fightin' arm would ya?" he asked.

Before she said a word, there was a loud crack as Winter bashed Trick hard across the back of his head with her wooden staff, knocking him to the ground unconscious. Bitter smiled and whispered a quick "thank you," stepping away before Winter could act on the concerned look she was holding towards Bitter.

She made her way across the room, dodging the various unconscious bodies lying on the ground. She picked up Pyro on the way, who was passed out on the floor, most likely from too much alcohol, seeing as she was not harmed in any way. Bitter set her down on the ground and leaned down, trying to wake her up, but soon gave up.

Bitter sat down across from her, watching the door and lit up a cigarette, smoking as she waited for the others to amble out into the alley.

Whiskey surveyed the destruction. _Well, at least Trick's reign a terror's ovah fer now_... she thought as she picked up the discarded whiskey bottle Pyro had been using. She ambled out into the alley, sipping what was left of the amber liquid and pouring just a little on her slashed up hand, feeling the burn in her chest coupled with the burn of her hand. She limped down the alley to where Bitter was sitting and passed off the remainder of the liquor to the blond haired girl.

Doc was the next to exit, not a scratch on her, supporting a weakened Rook and followed by Spades and Fade congratulating each other playfully on their performances. Whiskey ripped the tail of her white shirt off and wrapped it tightly across her hand, bandaging the wound.

"I think we'se bettah get ta Manhattan," Bitter stated after a couple of moments of silence. "We'se were lucky dat dere goils was out foh a night on da town, but I don't think dat we should push dat luck by hangin' round heah ta see if dey toin up anytime soon."

A murmur of agreement washed over the small crowd as they slinked off into the shadows, a mess of cuts, bruises, and blood, on their way back to Manhattan. Doc woke Pyro up with some smelling salts and she stumbled out of Harlem with the rest of the girls, still in a drunken swagger.


	7. More pain, more fightingdidn't expect it...

Bitter made sure to stay out of the light of the alleys, not wanting anyone to get too concerned about her. She wrapped her hand up nicely, quietly mumbling to herself, keeping an eye on Winter as she checked the wound on her shoulder. Trick had caught her good and as she neared the light, she could see that it was fairly deep and bleeding something awful. She knew she would not be able to hide it forever, she just did not want all the girls concerned, especially Whiskey.

Winter was watching her concerned, her eyes kept to the ground until Bitter's body hit the light of the alley. She winced as she saw once light blue over shirt covered with dark red bloodstains. Winter slinked up to Whiskey and looked nervously at the ground as she asked, "How long 'til we get ta Manhattan?" she asked.

Whiskey looked at her strangely, "Why, ya hoit bad Wintah?" she asked, looking the girl over. Winter had no wounds at all, only a few bruises scattered on her arms and neck, where her various opponents had tried to take her by surprise.

"Nah, I jist need ta know," she said, looking up at Whiskey, the green in her brown eyes glinting at her nervously.

"Fine, whatevah. We got about an hour left a' walkin'," she said. She watched as Winter's face twitched a little. "An' if someone's hoit bad, ya bettah speak up now Wintah," she warned, lowering her voice so no one else could hear them, knowing very well that her girls all had some pride issues. 

"Well, Bittah kin take care of herself right?" she said carefully, raising an eyebrow and quickly looking back down at the ground.

Bitter ducked into the shadows at the sound of her name and saw the two girls whispering away. "Aw shit," she muttered out loud to herself.

Whiskey nodded and limped slowly over to Bitter, who was waiting for her in the dark section of the alley, arms crossed. "Yes my dear?" Bitter asked, knowing quite well what she wanted.

"Lemme see ya Bittah," Whiskey said, motioning for her to come into the light.

"Ya kin see me fine right heah," Bitter retorted, a smirk planted on her face.

Whiskey glared at her, "We ain't playin' games Bittah, not tonight, I ain't lettin' ya pass out on me. An' I certainly don't wanna be carryin' ya ass ta Manhattan," she said.

Bitter's eyes narrowed, their emerald color scorching Whiskey through the darkness. "I'll be fine," she stated, noticing that the other girls had stopped to watch.

"Bittah! I will soak ya if ya don't get yer ass ovah heah," Whiskey yelled, her concern for her friend mixing with the anger building up inside her.

Bitter jumped at her harsh tone and shrugged, coolly walking into the light. "Jesus, Mary, an' Joseph! Bittah, you'se bleedin' everywhere!" she exclaimed as she glanced at the wound on her shoulder which was soaking her shirt with blood.

Bitter grimaced as Whiskey pulled the shirt apart from where it had attached itself to the bloody, deep wound, glancing over the pussed up, now infected wound. "Jesus, Needle's gonna hate dis Trick kid, Doc get de hell ovah heah, an' bring dat medical kit," Whiskey hollered.

Whiskey shook her head, "Bittah, what am I gonna do wit ya?" she said with a frown.

Bitter smirked, "You'd do de same thing, dat's why we watch out fer each other," she stated, "cause if we don't, I don't know what would happen."

Whiskey laughed, "Airight, I'm gonna send de other goils ahead a' us," she said, winking at Bitter as Doc looked her wound over.

"Airight, All of ya – Get. Go to Manhattan, we'se run into a lil' problem due ta Bittah's stubbornness an' we'll meet ya dere. I'se suah ya all know de way," Whiskey yelled to the girls who were lazing about, gawking at the scene unfolding before them.

They all whined and complained, but Whiskey just yelled at them more until they left. She turned around to see Bitter's face scrunched up in pain as Doc pressed something against her shoulder. "Jesus Doc," she screamed, trying to push her away. It was a good thing that Doc was used to people doing that and she didn't release for one second.

"Well, if ya woulda spoke up before it wouldn't hoit so bad," she stated simply. Whiskey watched amusedly at the situation and as soon as Doc was done bandaging her up, she patted her gently on the back, only causing Bitter to glare at her something awful.

"What?" Whiskey said, as Bitter changed out of her over shirt in the middle of the alley, leaving her only in her tight, sleeveless undershirt. "Don't tell me your mad 'cause I stopped yer stubborn ways so you wouldn't pass out on de way ta Manhattan?" she asked, frowning at her as Bitter did not say a word.

"Fine, give me the silent treatment," Whiskey said, crossing her arms and starting to walk away with them. "But ya look like a whore in dat thing," she said with a wide smirk, turning to Bitter.

Bitter stuck her tongue out and punched her hard on the arm, "I wouldn't talk my dear," she said.

"What?" Whiskey asked, looking down at her attire, noticing that her over shirt was torn up the side, most of it missing. "Woops," she said, taking the rest of the torn white shirt off. "See, we are true friends, we do everything together, even look like whores."

Bitter laughed, "Yeah, an' more den once too," she said, lightening up.

Doc just shook her head at the two, playfully punching at each other and making fun. They continued all the way until they got to the lodging house, where the girls were waiting outside for them.

Whiskey led them in, Bitter on her tail. Specs saw Whiskey and jumped up, pulling her into a hug, "I was so worried," he said. 

"Dat's great an' all but yer crushin' me lungs," Whiskey grunted from the confines of Specs' arms, Specs still not loosening the embrace.

Jack appeared behind Bitter, looking her up and down. "Looking whorish today, aren't we?" he asked.

Bitter glared at him and punched him hard across the face, knocking him to the ground. She stepped over his body, stepping on his stomach hard before going straight up the stairs, not giving him a second look.

"Tsk, tsk Jackey-boy," Whiskey stated cruelly, having turned around so her back was against Specs' chest, still not able to free herself from his arms. "Now if you'se go around sayin' dat Bittah's a whore den dat I guess dat makes me one too, considerin' da attire, rat bastad…" she stated with a satisfied smirk, mumbling the last part under her breath so only Specs could hear her. She yelped a little, receiving a pinch for that remark, but continued undaunted. "And Specs heah would have a little bit of a problem wit you callin' his goil a whore, wouldn't ya Specsy?" 

Specs took a moment to consider, looking her up and down shamelessly before answering with obvious relish. "Nope, no problem," Specs stated, sweeping a surprised Whiskey up the stairs the same way he had a week ago. 

"You'se just as much a rat bastad as Jack back dere, ya know it? And Specs, it's sweet an' all but ya can put me down," she said with a smile.

"Not on your life! And dere ain't nothin' you kin do ta make me," he stated, cocking an eyebrow and smirking to himself.

"We'll see about dat," Whiskey stated, as she began whispering extremely suggestive deeds into his ear until he became flushed, almost dropping her upon their arrival at the girls' bunkroom. "Talk to you later doll," she stated with a salacious wink, slapping his ass and entering the bunkroom, a grin plastered across her face and a slight flush to her cheeks.

"If it idn't me favorite hell raisa!" a petite girl asked with amused whiskey colored eyes. "An' jist what's dat flush on your cheeks from?" she asked with a wink, getting up from the position on her bunk and crossing the room with a cocky air about her. She was not a large or imposing person, but she exuded confidence.

"Hazard, you of all people should know what this flush on my cheeks is from...or have you already forgotten dat 'moment' last yeah when I was stayin' heah and ah, walked in on you an' Jackey-boy? Wasn' he makin' yoah face all flushed at de time?" Whiskey asked with a big grin, limping towards Hazard and sweeping her into a small hug. "By da way, you might wanna go check on him...da smart ass was just askin' foh trouble and Bittah gave it ta him."

Hazard glared slightly in Bitter's direction before exiting the room hastily. She stuck her head in with a small smile and said, "Knowin' dat bastad, he probably deserved it." And with a wink she was gone.

Bitter chuckled as Whiskey sat down next to her on the bed, "Ya ain't gotta look aftah me Whiskey, go have yer fun," Bitter stated with a small sigh.

Whiskey smirked and ruffled up Bitter's hair playfully, knocking her gray cap off in the process. "Aww, I rather visit wit me troublemakin' partna in crime! It's not everyday I can do stuff like dis, seeing as ya hoit an' I ain't," she said, glowering as she dodged a punch from Bitter.

Bitter pushed her hands away, "Ya know I don't like it when ya do dat," she muttered, putting her cap back on. 

"Aw, but I think Spot would agree dat ya look bettah when ya hair's down," Whiskey said with a wide smirk, knocking the cap off again.

"I do agree," Spot's rough voice said from the doorway. 

Whiskey let out an 'eep' and jumped up, blocking Bitter from his view, so he would not see her hoit again. "How'd ya . . ." she started, looking over his tired appearance.

"I have me sources Whiskey," Spot said, narrowing his eyes, "What I wanna know, is why yer back ta getting' yerselves in trouble."

Whiskey glanced back at Bitter, giving her a look that said, _Get outta heah,_ after reading the look Bitter had on her face. Bitter nodded slowly, getting up as Whiskey started to speak again. "Figured ya could use de help," she said with a smirk, blocking Bitter's movements by grabbing a towel and starting a to fold it, a 'nervous habit' she had made up after time and time again of helping Bitter or one of the other girls out when they were in a tight squeeze with Spot or one of the other boys.

Spot's eyes flickered. "Bitter airight?" he asked, noticing that she was not talking. 

Whiskey snorted, "Of coise she's alright, she's jist tired, an' probably still mad at de likes of ya," she retorted.

He took a step closer and Bitter took the chance to dash out of the room while Whiskey yelled at him about respecting his girl's space when she needed it.

She chuckled nervously once she got out the door and proceeded into the boys' room, excusing herself quietly as she made her way to the window and out onto the fire escape. She climbed quietly onto the roof and laid down, nursing the wound on her hand for some time before settling down and watching the stars.

Doc was busy tending to Rook, who was in bad shape after the rumble. Pyro had passed out and hit her head on the edge of the table after reaching the Manhattan Lodging House, that being her only wound. Spades was antsy, having to hold still long enough for Doc to look over the various cuts and bruises she had acquired, none being bad enough to warrant a call for Needle. Doc left the room quickly, just as Whiskey started to rip into Spot about being an overbearing, 'overprotective sonnova bitch.' She made her way quickly down the stairs to the common room, finding Jack nursing a wounded ego. "I need someone ta go fetch Needle from Queens," she stated commandingly.

Jack looked up, defiance and self-pity characterizing his eyes, "Go get da fucker yaself, ya don't need ta be sendin' any a my boys ta get him dis late at night."

Doc just rolled her eyes and surveyed the rest of the room. "Anyone?"

"Suah," Racetrack volunteered, taking out a cigar and smelling the contents by running it under his nose, "I'se gots a cousin ovah dat way, bastad's nosey enough ta know all da business of everyone he shouldn't. Won't be too hard to find the little guy."

"I'se goin' witcha," a resolute voice stated, rising from the shadows. Fiery red hair being the first attribute spotted as she stepped over towards Races's side.

"Come on Gambla…it ain't gonna take dat long, an hour at da most!" he wined, not wanting to share the cigar on his way over there with his goil.

"Well den, da fasta we get dere, da quicka we can find Needle, and you know what he looks like? Right?" she asked as she looped her arm through his and walked nonchalantly towards the front door. Doc nodded and retreated to the girls' bunkroom, which had since been turned into a scene of chaos. Whiskey was livid, throwing her arms around, her face flushed as she ripped into Spot for just about everything she could think of, Fade cheering her on and Pyro drunkenly adding a few words of advice when the urge struck her, while the Manhattan girls were mortified at the display of unbridled estrogen clashing with unbridled testosterone.

Two of the Manhattan girls, comically enough, were sitting next to each, holding each other frightened. "He's gonna blow," Goosey said, a petite girl with long curly brown hair and large, innocent brown eyes, the only person in the room wearing a dress. 

_Maybe dat stunnin' brown numba mighta been hers..._Whiskey thought fleetingly with a smirk as she continued to yell at Spot. 

Goosey continued to cringe, and would have loved to be in the confinements of her boy Itey's arms, but was not about to risk walking across the room and past those two madmen, settling for the strong arms of her friend Blaze instead. Blaze sat staring in disbelief at the two, her blue eyes wide. _Should I stop them?_ she asked herself over and over again, wishing her boy Bumlets was there to hold her. Both girls were used to friendly teasing among the newsies, but actual malice had not made its way into the ranks since, well, since Whiskey had left six months ago...

Doc opened the door just as Whiskey began questioning Spot's use of 'the glare,' just in time to see an irate Spot, purple with rage, haul back and slug her across the face before turning tail and storming out of the room. The two Manhattan girls gasped and Doc just shook her head at the scene as Whiskey began to laugh softly to herself. "Guess I took dat jussa little too fah…"

After Whiskey's tirade, she made her way to the boys' bunkroom, her face flushed, but for a different reason this time. Spot could be extremely unreasonable when he jumped up on his high horse…especially since other ladies had been in the room to bear witness to the ego shattering that had occurred. She nursed the black eye tenderly. _Hell, it ain't like ya didn't earn it, you worked dat bastard hard foh damn neah thoity minutes. IF he hadn't lost it and slugged ya den ya woulda started to worry._ She reached the bunkroom and pounded hard on the door with her fist, cursing to herself as she did, feeling the gashed on her semi-mangled hand reopen.

There was only one place Bitter could be, she decided as she resorted to kicking the door to earn some attention, as her good hand was busy cutting off the blood flow to her bleeding one. "OPEN. UP. DA. FECKIN'. DOOR." she cursed vehemently, enunciating each word, as she kicked in time with the plea.

"Feckin'?" a voice asked as it opened the door slowly.

She kicked it open the rest of the way, spying Bumlet's amused face. "Yes. As in get da feck outta my way you feckin' bastad, I need ta get ta da roof," she stated with a smile as she swept past him, in too much of a hurry to recognize any others in the room, out the window and up the fire escape.

Bitter moaned softly to herself, upon hearing a noise from below after about a half an hour of wallowing in pain. She closed her eyes tightly, pretending to be asleep, hoping the person would go away.

"Bittah, Bittah, Bittah, what de feck am I gonna do witcha?" a familiar voice stated with concern. Bitter raised her dark, pain-filled green eyes to meet the light green of Whiskey's.

"Foist, we'se gonna getcha off a da roof heah, don' worry, I scared off ol' Spotty boy for da moment at hand," she stated, quickly closing the distance between herself and Bitter, trying to lift her up from under her good shoulder. Bitter cringed as she made an attempt, however half-assed, to help Whiskey out as both girls made their way back to the fire escape.

Bitter caught the sight of Whiskey's face as they hit the light on the fire escape and groaned, "Whiskey, ya pissed him off again didn't cha?" she asked.

Whiskey smiled crazily, "Why yes I did, I ripped him apart and don't start on me missy, he desoived it an' you know it," she said, hopping through the window to the boys' bunkroom and then reaching back to Bitter, helping her through.

Bitter hissed in pain as her shoulder hit the window, her not being careful enough and cursed up a storm. She glared at the boys who were staring at them. "Quit yer gawkin', ain't nuttin' heah ta see," she yelled, making the boys nervously jump and go back to what they were doing. 

Spot was in the middle of a poker game when he spotted Bitter. They made eye contact for a brief second and Bitter pushed Whiskey out of the room. "Let's get outta heah, fast," she whispered, seeing Spot glance over her body and she knew he saw the huge, blood-covered bandage on her shoulder.

Whiskey glared at Spot evenly, giving him a look of warning as he stood up and then grabbed Bitter's arm, dashing out of the room. Whiskey dragged her down the stairs and ran smack into Doc, who had Needle at her tail, his cheeks flushed from running all the way over. 

Bitter groaned, looking at Whiskey for help, who just shrugged and pushed her lightly towards Doc, who had crossed her arms by this time. "Just think of dis way, now Spot can't see ya 'cause ya getting' woiked on," Whiskey said with a wide smirk.

Bitter narrowed her eyes and then shrugged, "Fine, but you're stayin' wit me," she said. 

Whiskey looked at Doc for approval and she nodded impatiently, motioning for them to join Needle. Needle had disappeared into the little side room that was often used for things like this situation. Bitter tried to stall a bit longer, but Whiskey pushed her towards the room, Doc helping pry her fingers from the doorway. 

"Oh come on you guys, we don't hafta do dis," she said, sitting down nervously. Her eyes flickered and Whiskey watched her, seeing her eyeing the needle and then looking towards the door. 

Whiskey looked at Doc, her expressions telling her that Bitter was going to be giving trouble tonight. Doc sighed and she sat down next to Bitter. 

"Can you lay down dear?" she asked quietly, in a soothing voice. 

Bitter nodded, always one to do what Doc said. Doc motioned for Whiskey to come over and sit on her. Bitter watched the two nervously and jumped up as Whiskey neared. "Uh, uh, uh," Whiskey said, jumping on her friend and pinning her back to the bed, sitting with her knees on her stomach, her hands holding down her arms.

"Whiskey, don't do this to me," Bitter mumbled.

"It's fer yer own good Bittah. You've had a rough night, so I'se jist helpin' out a lil', wantcha to get better," Whiskey said, ruffling up her hair with one hand quickly and then going back to holding her arm down.

Bitter glared at her. Doc got up and took off the bandage slowly, looking over the deep, long wound at length. "It's infected," she muttered to Needle. She disappeared and reappeared with some bourbon, and poured it over the wound and then cleaned it off with water, Bitter cursing the whole thing through. Whiskey was surprised that Bitter had as much energy as she had, having lost a lot of blood and had to keep on her toes so Bitter did not toss her off and ruin Needle's careful stitching. 

They were soon done and Whiskey released Bitter, who was glaring dangerously at all three of them. She got up slowly and slinked past them, not saying a word. Whiskey smiled sweetly at Doc and Needle, "That means thank you in Bittah language," she said.

Doc rolled her eyes and started cleaning up and Whiskey watched her and Needle for a moment until she heard yelling out in the hall. She ran out of the door and spotted Bitter pushed up against the wall, Spot screaming at her. 

Bitter was a little bit weaker than she let on and screamed back at him with a dignified air, knowing that he would back down soon enough, seeing as she was hurt and all. He did not and this continued for quite a few minutes, until Bitter slammed her fist hard across his face and walked away. Whiskey watched this wide-eyed, feet paralyzed to the floor it seemed. 

He growled and ran after her, taking her to the ground. She could barely wriggle out of his grasp and it earned her some bruises as they wrestled around on the ground, her concentrating on trying to get free. 

"SPOT! What da feck is your problem!!" Whiskey screamed as she half ran/half limped towards the irate leader of Brooklyn. Both Bitter and Spot were still screaming back and forth to one another and Whiskey landed two swift kicks to Spot's midsection, hoping to catch him off guard long enough for Bitter to get to safety. Whiskey could handle a couple more bruises and some blood loss. Bitter, on the other hand, was looking as if she was about to pass out from both blood loss and pain.

Spot hardly flinched at the kicks delivered, so Whiskey straddled him and wrapped her right arm around his neck, flexing and holding it there as he struggled against the choke hold, giving Bitter the opportunity to get out from underneath him. "Get the feck out a heah," Whiskey growled lowly as Spot continued to put up a fight, succeeding in flipping Whiskey so she was now the one underneath him. Bitter nodded quickly and flew out of the lodging house towards The Screaming Weasel, knowing that Whiskey loved that bar, even though it smelt like piss and old liquor. When she arrived, she promptly collapsed in an empty booth, breathing heavily and hoping that her friend would get out of the lodging house in one piece.


	8. Cat fights knights in shining armor you ...

Thirty minutes after Bitter had entered the bar, Whiskey came sauntering in, her limping gait looking oddly comedic when pit against the scowl she had plastered across her face. Specs was at her side, her using his shoulder as a crutch. "Shut the hell up and no arguments." Whiskey stated as she slid into the other side of the booth, across from Bitter. Specs was about to take a seat next to her when she placed some money in his hand and requested for him to get "alcohol, lots of it."

Bitter looked over Whiskey's tired looking face. "So, what happened afta I left?"

"Well Spot bucked me, and was in the process of testing the durability of me spleen wit his fist befoah Jack, Dutchy and Wintah succeeded in pinnin' him ta da wall. So I'se a pathetic mess by now, an' was in the process of crawlin' off ta curl up in a hole an' die when me knight in shinin' specs swept me up an' got me da hell outta dere. I'm suah Doc woulda liked ta take a look at me, but I ain't got nothin' a couple a drinks won't cure," Whiskey stated, leaning back against the booth and lighting up a cigarette and then passing it on to Bitter.

"Alright, I undastand dat, but was it really necessary ta bring a man inta dis mess?" Bitter stated contemptuously.

Whiskey glared back at her. "Take a look at me. I look jus' as bad as you do now, an' my leg is feckin' killin' me, so lay off," she stated with finality, enunciating the 'lay off' with a slight growl.

Bitter looked over her friend, noticing a multitude of bruises, a twice-hit black eye, and a split lip. "Alright, sorry bout dat."

Specs returned with a bottle of whiskey and three cups. Whiskey took the bottle and attempted to pour herself a glass, but her hand shook too bad for much of it too make it into the glass. "Fuck Whiskey, jus' lemme pour it for ya."

Bitter looked over at the two enviously. "So, what's da plan from heah? You'se got any smart ideas?"

Whiskey smirked at her, letting Specs finally sit down next to her in the booth. "Why don't ya relax an' have a drink, it could help da pain," she said, making Specs pour her a glass and shoving it towards her.

She glared at the two of them, knowing very well that she looked like hell and shot down the liquid in one gulp, slamming the glass down on the table once she had finished with it. "Happy?" she asked, glaring at Whiskey.

Whiskey smirked back at her, looping an arm around Specs. "Yeah, but I'd be happiah if ya'd lighten up a bit," she said, kissing Specs on the cheek after he poured her another glass of whiskey. 

Bitter just rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, waiting for Whiskey to finish her drink so they could discuss plans. Whiskey took her time, knowing very well that it would piss Bitter off. 

When Whiskey next looked up, Bitter was not glaring at her, but rather looking straight past her and Specs, her mouth open, her trying to say something. "What? Is Spot heah?" Whiskey asked, looking around. She muttered a curse when she saw what Bitter was gawking at. Nine girls entered the bar, all clumped together with fierce looks of anger on their faces as they scanned the place, obviously looking for someone.

Specs looked back and forth at the two girls confused. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Bitter shot Whiskey a look as she slumped down in the booth, knowing exactly who they were looking for. "What are we gonna do?" Whiskey whispered, ignoring Specs' obvious confusion.

"Like I know," Bitter said, "we gotta get outta heah an' fast, or we're deader than dead."

Specs eyes flickered between the two, still trying to figure out the situation. Whiskey waited until the girls had passed them to sit up straight and kiss Specs on the cheek, asking him to help her out of the booth. Specs scooted over, confused and helped Whiskey limp towards the door, Bitter right at their tail.

Bitter was in bad condition and was not moving too fast. She tried to keep up with the two of them, but it was no use. As she neared the door, someone grabbed her shoulder and twirled her around, putting her face to face with the leader of the Harlem girls, Luna Morgan. The slender girl's pale face turned a hint of red with fury as she looked over Bitter, her brown eyes flaring to a shade of red. Her jet-black hair fell in her way as she glanced up and down her hurt body, not even a slight look of pity or compassion coming across her face. 

"Well, well, if it ain't jist de goil I'se been lookin' fer," Luna growled lowly, "How's Spot dealing wit de fact dat Harlem's close ta takin' his dear Brooklyn ovah?" 

Bitter even her glare and snapped back, "Ya ain't close, an' ya ain't nevah takin' Brooklyn ovah."

Luna laughed, "Tsk, tsk, ya should mind yer mannahs me dear, don't want to get more on me bad side, seeing as you an' yer goils already took it upon yerselves ta soak our dear lot of boys, which we ain't happy about, are we goils?" she said, a smirk planted on her face.

A tall, slender girl with pale skin snarled at her like a cat, her eyebrows moving as she chimed in an agreement with Luna, slinking up by her side. Her dark brown hair and eyes seemed to clash against her fair skin, making her appearance awkward to Bitter, making her stare a little.

"Whatcha lookin' at goily?" Cats hissed at her, cracking her knuckles compulsively. 

"She's lookin' at de same thing I am, a no good, dirty whorish Harlem goil," Whiskey chimed in, finally noticing that Bitter was not with her and Specs, but rather in the hold of her enemies. Specs had tried to convince her to let him take her home and get some boys to go after Bitter, but Whiskey wasn't one to leave her friend behind, especially when it was nine on one. 

Bitter smirked as Cats turned a slight shade of red and worked on getting Luna to release the grip she had on her shirt. Luna snarled and pushed Bitter aside, landing her on the ground and stepped up to Whiskey. 

"I wouldn't be saying dat goily," she said, taking a swing at Whiskey. Specs jumped in front of her protectively and took the punch from Luna that was meant for Whiskey, while Cats jumped at Whiskey, leaving the rest of the seven to corner in on Bitter, who could barely stand up, nonetheless fight. 

"You bettah take dat back ya lousy Brooklyn bitch," Cats stated maliciously as she lunged at Whiskey, who effectively ducked the punches thrown in her direction.

"An why would I do dat, Catsy? I don' evah take back what I say, why da hell should I break da trend by startin' wit a doity tramp like you?" Whiskey spat out through clenched teeth right before Cats landed a punch that sent the Whiskey to the floor. Grinning at Whiskey's inability to get off of her knees, Cats closed the distance between the two, savoring the pain evident on Whiskey's face as she spat out blood and raised herself into a sitting position.

Meanwhile, Bitter watched anxiously as the rest of the unoccupied girls closed in on her, knowing she very well could not run even if she tried. A fiery short girl of sixteen pulled her up from the ground, Bitter not knowing how such a slim girl could even attempt doing what she did for a living. Her fair Irish complexion sparked through her chocolate brown hair and menacing brown eyes as she pushed Bitter up against a wall, holding her there while cussing her out. 

"C'mon Mimic, let us have some fun too," a girl whined, her clear blue eyes and light brown hair differentiating from the mainly Irish look most of the girls had. 

"Airight Relic, just take it easy we don't want her passing out on us," Mimic said with a smirk, letting go of Bitter, allowing some of the other girls to step up on her. 

"Hold 'er Midnight," Relic stated and Bitter could not do anything as a girl of her height stepped up, her brown hair back in a ponytail and her brown eyes gleaming as she grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her, locking Bitter so she could not fight back at all. Bitter growled obscenities as Relic started in on her, giving her a nice black eye before stepping back and letting a girl who Bitter knew as Angel step forward, knife in hand. 

Her brown eyes glinted at her with a mystic look as she licked her lips, tossing the knife back and forth between both hands, making Bitter a bit nervous. Her long brown hair with natural highlights fell into her tan face, making her pause to pin it back. She grasped the knife like a professional as she pushed it up against Bitter's neck, making her breathing became slightly uncomfortable. "I'd love ta kill ya, my dear, but I'm afraid dat it ain't yer night ta die," she whispered in her ear. 

Bitter snarled and started to insult her when the knife dug deep into her upper chest, just below her neck. She let out a loud cry, cursing up a blue streak as Angel pulled the knife out again, satisfied with the pain she put Bitter in. Bitter closed her eyes, resigning herself for more as she leaned her head against Midnight's chest, hoping Whiskey was doing better than her.

"Aww, I didn' hoit da indestructible Whiskey? Did I?" Cats screamed mockingly as Whiskey slowly made her way back onto her feet, grimacing at the pain in her knee from that last kick.

_Christ! She really id like a damn cat, jus' toyin' wit me, havin' a little fun 'til she goes in foh da kill..._ Whiskey thought as she rolled her neck. "Now who evah claimed dat I was indestructible? Me?" Whiskey stated after Cats pointed affirmatively in her direction. "Well if dat's da case it musta been after one too many shots a liquid courage at some bar...and I do become indestructible afta nursin' an entire bottle meself."

"Yes, well you ain't had one too many yet, so you'se just as I like ya, vulnerable, you gonna plead wit me ta spare ya life?" Cats asked, her -- eyes twinkling. 

"What is it wit you Harlem scum gettin' off on people pleadin' wit ya foh dere lives?" Whiskey stated, throwing her hands up in the air frustrated.

Across the room, Bitter sighed and grimaced at the ever-growing wounds she was accumulating. Suddenly, she was released, feeling Midnight's grip on her slacken. She leaned against the wall, trying to regain her balance, looking for who her savior was. Sparkling blue eyes greeted her as Spot flashed her a smile, taking on some of the girls, and only fighting them to give Bitter enough time to compose herself. She could not move though, feeling quite painfully tired and dizzy. Spot looked back at her, motioning for her to leave, but she just shook her head, telling him with her eyes that she could not make it out of the building without help. 

Spot pushed a girl away from him and the girl cursed at him, her blue eyes glaring at him as she pushed her wavy dark brown hair out of the way. "See ya 'round Autumn," he said with a smirk, making his way over to Bitter, who was on the ground at the time, and helping her up to her feet.

"Look I'se sorry," he whispered in her ear, "But dere ain't too much I can do right now ta make it up ta ya."

A fleeting smile passed over Bitter's features as Spot apologized, then the former grimace resurfaced as he passed his hand over a tender area, eliciting a small gasp. Two girls were making their way over to the couple, anger in their eyes. A girl named Dagger, had drawn a weapon, smiling evilly as she pushed her short brown hair out of her eyes, green eyes looking the two up and down. The other girl had long wavy hair that was the same color as a penny and blue eyes with little flecks of gold around the pupils. She was stronger than the girl next to her and was Irish like most of the girls there. "C'mon Mav, it ain't like us to not get any fun," Dagger stated encouragingly to her, stepping over various unconscious bodies.

Bitter looked at him straight in the eye. "Ya really wanna make it up ta me? Den get me da hell outta heah!" Bitter stated, her green eyes flashing lividly.

"An' what about Whiskey an' Specs? You jus' plannin' on leavin' dem behind ta face da wrath a nine angry women?"

"Somehow I don' think dat'll be a problem..." Bitter trailed off, eyeing Whiskey's exasperated form.

Cats laughed cruelly as she began circling Whiskey her like she was a delectable little morsel, and a grim smile crossed her face as she lunged. Fortunately, directly in her path at the moment was an off balance Luna Morgan, who collided with Cats, both going down hard in a tangle of limbs. Whiskey limped quickly away from the cursing mess at her feet, and over to Specs' side where he was rubbing the bruised and scraped up knuckles of his hand and smiling lopsidedly at Whiskey, seeing as the left side of his face was already swelling. 

"Out. Now," she commanded as Specs once again served the purpose of a crutch and the two fled the bar, right on the tail of Bitter and Spot.

The Harlem girls had stumbled out a minute or two after them, only to find them gone. Bitter could hear the curses coming from their mouths, echoing down the long, hidden alley that Spot had led them into. She did not like being carried, but Spot had insisted and she was not going to waste time arguing.

"Needle's still at de Manhattan lodgin house, right?" Bitter asked behind her. 

Whiskey grimaced at the comment, "Yeah, why Bittah?" she asked, not knowing what kind of condition Bitter was in. Specs looked at her, telling her to be quiet and Whiskey just glared at him.

"Got a nice wound that's pounding with pain, dat's all," Bitter said simply, trying to see her friend over Spot's shoulder in the dark. She twisted, making herself groan in pain, receiving a harsh look from Spot when she did that. She could finally see her friend and that was all that really mattered to her at the time. 

Whiskey was looking quite exhausted from the fight and Specs took the chance to scoop her up into his arms, ignoring her remarks to put her down. Bitter laughed slightly and buried her head in Spot's chest, enjoying the confinements of his arms. Spot smiled down on her, only getting more concerned as he looked over her, seeing scattered bruises, a black eye and her bloodstained shirt. He hurried up to get her to the lh, trying not to hurt her in the process. 

"Christsake, Specs, ya kin put me down now. Three times! Three times in da past two weeks ya been carryin' me...I feel like a damn invalid," Whiskey grumbled as the Manhattan Lodging House came into view. Specs just smirked in return, knowing that there was no way Whiskey was getting out of it this time, she could barely stand on her own, let alone walk.

"Yeah? Well dat's because ya are one, gettin' ya ass kicked from heah ta Harlem and back, an' don't you even try da same tricks ya did earlier ta get outa me arms, I'm immune ta dem now," Specs stated, one eyebrow cocked and a smug look on his face as they reached the lodging house and Spot carried Bitter in. 

Whiskey wriggled free of Specs' arm right before they reached the door and whispered into his ear. "I'se got a reputation ta keep up heah ya dolt! An' it don't include you carryin' me everywheah," she hissed with a small smile as she limped across the threshold and collapsed in the first available wooden chair. 

Specs confronted by an irate Jack, and frantically explaining what had happened between the time that they had pinned Spot to the wall and their sudden arrival. Something to the effect of "Spot pissed, now concerned. Bitter bleeding, still bleeding.

Whiskey? Drinks good, Harlem newgoils bad, drunken brawls worse, now bleeding." 

"Hey, hey, hey! Outta da chair, you'se bleedin' all ovah it!" an amused yet concerned voice stated over the noise of the lodging house.

Whiskey grunted crossly, yet rose nonetheless and began her trudge up the stairs to the room that served as an infirmary. Bitter had been promptly swept up to it, Needle right on Spot's tail. Looking over her shoulder she spotted the voice that had ordered her out of the chair moments before and mustered up a, "Fuck off Bumlets."

"What 'appened ta 'feck'?" The same amused voice asked as she was halfway up the stairs.

"The lilt comes and goes lad," she yelled over her shoulder in as genial a Scottish accent as she could manage as she neared the top of the stairs, cursing under her breath. Every step she took elicited a small gasp that she cut off with a determined grimace. She began regretting telling Specs to "lay off wit da whole carryin' thing," as she would certainly get to the top of these damn stairs much faster if he was supporting her. _Ha! Ya bastads...couldn' hold me back! I know your kind...get off on makin' people grimace...You and dose damn Harlem newsies are one in da same,_ she thought to the stairs, who were most wisely not responding. With a half-hearted kick to the banister she continued on her way. 

"Bittah, you'se still alive in deah?" Whiskey asked as she softly knocked on the wooden door of the infirmary. She could hear muffled hisses and grunts of pain and resigned herself to sitting outside the door, when it swung open and Whiskey spotted Doc's concerned face.

"Whiskey, just da goil I was hopin' ta run inta. Get in heah, I'se need ta look at dose bruises dat Spot," she stated coolly with a glare, "And dose Harlem bitches gave ya."

"Awww, come on Doc, dey'se jus' bruises..." Whiskey trailed off as Doc led her docilely to a chair.

"If dey'se jus' bruises den why da hell ya bleedin'?" Doc asked as she cleaned and wrapped the wounds quickly.

Whiskey rolled her eyes, her face soon etched in pain as Doc pressed against her body, trying to stop the bleeding, "Jesus Doc, dat smarts!" she yelled, attempting to push her away, but getting no where.

Bitter laughed at her friend, glad that her time of pain was over, and that now she was just lying in bed, barely conscious. Whiskey glared at her, but her stare instantly softened. "Jesus Bittah, ya look awful," she said, shocked by Bitter's pale appearance.

Bitter pushed herself up on her elbows, but Needle just pushed her back down before he left the room, ignoring Bitter's glare. "Thanks Whiskey, makes a goil feel real good," she muttered, watching Needle walk away, promising to get her a glass of bourbon for pain. 

Whiskey smiled, "Get me a glass, or rather bring the bottle," she yelled after him. 

Doc shook her head and finished patching her up, "Ya ain't getting' more whiskey, me dear," she stated, before leaving, pushing Bitter down again as she attempted to sit again.

"Gawd I hate when dey do dat," Bitter cursed, leaning her head back so she could see Whiskey. Whiskey just laughed slightly, hopping up and hobbling over to the edge of the bed Bitter was laying on.

"Hey you ok?" she asked quietly.

Bitter smirked, "I'll live, it jist wasn't a fair fight ya know? Seven on one," she said, shaking her head.

Whiskey laughed, "Yeah, sorry I abandoned you back dere, I couldn't barely stand an' dat goil Cats is a handful, lemme tell ya, an' Luna had Specs fightin' for 'is life," she said with a smirk. "Never seen 'im fight someone dat good before, an' damn he was doin' well!" she exclaimed, licking her lips with the thought of Specs.

Bitter just shook her head, "Yer crazy," she muttered. 

Whiskey smirked, "Well yer knight in shinin' armor came ta rescue you didn' he?" she said raising an eyebrow.

Bitter rolled her eyes, "I don't talk about mushy stuff like you do Whiskey, I keep me private life private," she said, moaning as Needle came back in the room, shoving a cup of Bitter's least favorite liquor at her. Needle helped her sit up and motioned for her to drink it.

Bitter looked at Whiskey who gave her a look, saying, "Ya know it helps de pain, even if ya don't like de taste," she said, "and wheah's my cup?" addressing Needle.

Needle smirked and left as soon as Bitter gulped it down. "Gawd, I hate that stuff more and more every time I hafta choke it down," she muttered.

Whiskey smacked her, "Don't talk about me whiskey dat way, it's a wonderful drink," she said.

Bitter winced as she did so, shutting Whiskey up before she could apologize, "I'se jist fine," she muttered weakly, turning on her side. "I jist need some sleep, right now? Care to join me for a long nap?" Bitter asked, making room for Whiskey to climb in bed next to her.

She smiled and hopped in, also tired from the fight. "You know, Specs would be jealous," she stated, grinning at Bitter.

Bitter groaned, "Jist shut yer trap an' sleep, I don't wanna heah a word from you about Specs for de next few days!" she snapped, curling up in a ball and soon falling fast asleep. Whiskey watched her concerned, her body looking horribly worn and her face full of pain even as she slept. Whiskey knew she probably looked about the same and closed her eyes, soon fast asleep beside Bitter.

When Whiskey next woke up, she found Bitter gone and snapped up, looking around the room. Specs was sleeping in the chair next to her and she shook him awake. "Wheah's Bittah?" she asked her sleepy boy.

Specs rubbed his eyes. "What?" he asked.

"Wheah is Bittah?" she asked, louder than the first time.

"Oh, Spot took her back to Brooklyn, said something about her getting bettah if she was back home an' not out causin' trouble," he said sleepily. 

Whiskey got up and limped across the room, "Why didn't he wake me up? Take me wit him, I live dere too!" she exclaimed.

Specs laughed, "Whiskey, ya kin barely walk, plus Spot thought Bittah needed a break from ya, stop the troublemakin' you two have been doin'," he said.

Whiskey raged. "WHAT?" she screamed, limping towards him slowly.

"I'm sorry, we got Jack ta agree to let you stay heah for a week," he said.

"Oh no, no you don't, I can't believe you went along with Spot!" she yelled, limping out towards the door.

"Wheah ya goin?" he asked, not even getting up.

"Ta Brooklyn, ta wheah I live, wheah me best friend is!" Whiskey hollered.

Specs laughed, getting up when he heard a slight thump on the stairs. He walked out into the hallway, only to get Whiskey's green eyes glaring up at him from the step that she had sat down on, her leg obviously giving her pain. He helped her up, trying to stifle a laugh. "See, you can't even get down de stairs, nonetheless to Brooklyn!" he said, helping her back into the sick room. "Plus I agree wit Spot, you an' Bittah have been causin' too much trouble, ya need ta get bettah too," he said.

Whiskey's eyes widened and she pushed him away. "You were in on this!" she exclaimed, sitting down on the bed. 

Specs sighed, "It's fer de best," he said, walking towards the door. "Get some rest, I'll be back by lunch wit some food," he stated as he shut the door, locking it behind him. Whiskey collapsed on the bed, cursing up a storm as she fell into a gentle sleep.

~ ~ ~


	9. Getting better and some major sneakage

Bitter woke up in a soft bed, with different covers and a different pillow and Whiskey nowhere in sight. She pushed herself up to a sitting position gently, only to have some one push her down again. She glared at the person with her green eyes and then softened as she saw it was Spot. "Hey, wheah are we?" she asked.

He smiled, "Back at home, Brooklyn," he said.

Bitter yawned tiredly and looked up at him, "You carried me heah while I was asleep?" she asked, not remembering the journey there.

Spot nodded, "Thought you'd heal bettah heah, back at home," he said.

Bitter looked at him wearily, "Yer right," she said, closing her eyes as they grew heavy with sleep that she needed. When she next woke up she found Spot still in his chair, looking at her. She smiled at him and he smiled back. 

"Sleep well?" he asked. 

Bitter nodded and then her stomach growled loudly. She blushed, saying, "Guess it's hungry," she said, rubbing it gently as pangs of hunger came through.

"How long have I been out?" she asked. 

"Jist a day or two," he said simply, pulling out a sandwich from her, which he had gotten from a bakery, along with a half bottle of milk. He helped her sit up, making sure she was supported well with pillows, still being quite weak from the fight a few days ago.

Bitter ate slowly and sipped at the milk, looking at Spot the whole time as he watched her concerned. "How's Whiskey been?" she asked.

Spot stumbled over a few words at first. "Oh she's jist fine," he said carefully.

She nodded, "Is she gonna come an' see me? Her leg doing ok? Did she get back heah with us airight?" she asked, concerned about her friend.

Spot gulped, "Uh Bittah, she ain't heah," he said. "She couldn't make it from Manhattan so I asked Jack if she could stay there for a while," he said, watching her eyes widen.

"What do you mean?" she said, almost dropping her milk. 

"I just thought she could use some time with Specs to help her get bettah, dat's all," he said simply.

Bitter's dark emerald green eyes narrowed at him. "Spot, I know dat ain't it, why ain't she heah?" she demanded.

Spot snarled at her, "Cause ya need ta stay outta trouble an' when yer together, you two are nuttin but trouble, so she ain't gonna be back heah for a week, ok?" he said with a slight growl.

Bitter snapped at that moment. "Spot, you can't tell me what to do! You have no control ovah me an' ya had no right ta make Whiskey stay in Manhattan, her place is heah an' you know it! I demand you bring her back by tomorrow!" she hollered at him, steaming with anger.

Spot shook his head, getting up from his chair. "I'm sorry Bittah, but dat jist isn't gonna happen," he said, walking backwards towards the door. He locked it and then looked back at Bitter, "Get some sleep darhlin'," he said.

She chucked the empty bottle of milk at him, hitting the door as he closed it, enjoying the shattering noise as it made impact "She bettah be back heah by tomorrow!" she screamed. 

Spot did not answer, but the sound of a chair dragging came closer until it stopped at the door. Bitter growled obscenities lowly at him until she drifted back off into sleep.

~ ~ ~

Whiskey silently twirled the extremely short lock of hair near the front of her face with a slight frown. Specs had brought her lunch and gone out to finish selling, what had been happening for the past couple of days, and it had been several hours since he had departed.

"Wheah id dat no good doity bastad?" she asked no one as she flopped back on the bed, picking up the worn western dime novel Jack had lent her after she'd bitched long enough about being bored out of her mind, and cooped up in the small room "against me will!"

She flipped through it, a frown making her mouth quirk downward. With an indignant, frustrated sigh she tossed the novel at the locked door, which was reinforced by a tilted chair on the other side. 

"Damn da lot of you'se!" she screamed at the closed door. She'd picked the lock earlier that morning only to discover that she was no closer to getting back to Brooklyn than when she'd begun. 

"Da lot a us? Dat include me?" Specs asked as he opened the door hesitantly, sticking his head in with a roguish grin, his hair falling down in his eyes.

Whiskey smirked. As much as she wanted to hate him, that hurt puppy dog look broke down all her defenses. "Well, maybe I'se can make da exception foh you...but only you."

With a smile, he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing away the hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. A lock of hair, just a little too stubborn to stay behind her ear, resting instead at her chin, while the rest graced her shoulders, defeated his nimble fingers.

"I know, it's freakish lookin', but you'se just gonna hafta get used ta it," she stated with amusement, pulling a surprised Specs down to her level by his vest and planting a feathery kiss against his temple, slowly making her way down to his mouth.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa now...ya don't wanna be da one explainin' ta Doc about how I'se received dese bruises do ya?" Whiskey asked, one eyebrow quirked, removing Specs' talented mouth from her neck. "Now," she stated with a smile, "Get out, I'se still pissed off atcha. Oh, an' send Haz in, I'se been wantin' ta talk to her."

Specs retreated from the room, flushed and running a hand through his brown hair. He closed the door, but neglected to lock it as he went down the hall to get Hazard. Unfortunately, Hazard was nowhere to be found, just as Whiskey had worked out earlier that morning, and she heard Specs walk down the stairs and out the lh, presumably on his way to Tibby's to fetch Haz.

Whiskey let out the breath she had been holding and quickly limped over to the door. It was a little after mid day, and most of the newsies would still be out to lunch, so she quickly limped down the hall and into the bunkroom, through the open window, down the fire escape, and into the alley. With a triumphant smirk she spat at the lodging house and headed in the direction of Brooklyn.

~ ~ ~

Bitter had quit talking to Spot by the second day she was conscious and would not utter a word to him, not even when he begged her too. She was very stubborn and concentrated on a plan to get out of the small room. Spot had known her too well with putting her in a room with no window, claiming it was for 'the best.' She had just snarled at him and turned on her back, promising never to talk to him again. 

It was around lunchtime when someone knocked on the door and she found one of the girls at her door, a tray of food in her hands, along with some bandages. "Winter! Thank Gawd, I'se been dying foh real company!" she exclaimed, getting up and greeting her with a hug. 

Winter smiled and placed the tray on the bed, closing the door behind her so they could have some privacy. "How's it been goin' around heah?" Bitter asked between bites of food. 

Winter rolled her eyes, "Well, Spot's been his controllin' self again, makin' us goils stay inside at night and making us be chaperoned by a guy when sellin'. Says he don't want us getting inta no more trouble," she muttered, cursing afterwards. 

Bitter smiled, "Any news 'bout Whiskey?" she asked.

Winter smiled and bent closer to her, whispering, "I hoid she's on her way heah," she said. "Spot don't know tho, otherwise all hell would be breaking loose heah," she added with a smile. She tossed her long black hair with sharp metal pieces braided into it over her shoulder and pulled something from her pocket, laying it down before Bitter.

Bitter gasped as she recognized her dagger and she grabbed it, twirling it in her hand. "How de hell did ya get dis from Spot?" she asked, admiring her beautifully handmade dagger.

Winter smiled, "Well I got Pyro to distract Spot an' den I lifted it, I mean dose few tricks ya taught me about stealin' do come in use at times," she said with a laugh.

Bitter laughed full heartedly and attached the dagger to her thigh, thanking Winter over and over as the lunch proceeded. "Well, ya bettah get goin' on sellin' dose papes, oh, an' Wintah, lemme know when Whiskey's heah, knock three times on the door an' if you see her tell her to knock four times, k?" Bitter asked as she got up, carrying the tray out the door with her.

"I will, an' take it easy, wrap dose injuries up airight, I'se got a feelin' something eventful will happen tonight," Winter said, winking at her before closing the door shut. 

A moment later Spot's voice was heard outside, "I told you to lock it!," he hollered at the glaring girl. He opened the door and was met by Bitter looking coldly at him and then turning her back to him. He sighed and shut the door, "Come on Bittah, ya can't still be mad at me," he said, whining slightly.

Bitter did not answer and he tried to say some other words, but she did not respond at all, so he left reluctantly, locking the door behind him. Bitter sighed heavily and laid down on the bed, relaxing a bit while she wrapped her few wounds up tightly. Falling gently into a sleep as she wished for Whiskey to come quickly. 

~ ~ ~

"Gawd! Dis id takin' forevah!" Whiskey stated with a scowl as she finished her cigarette and stood up and moved away from the grimy alley wall she had been leaning on for support.

"Fuckin' bastads," she muttered as she saw two more Brooklyn newsies pass by the narrow mouth of the alley adjacent to the lodging house. When the coast was clear she scurried up the fire escape, her limping gait forcing her to take it slower than she would have liked. _Since when did dis fiah escape get so damn steep!?,_ she cursed inwardly, stooping down underneath the window of the bunkroom.

"Been expectin' ya," a rough voice stated from above her.

"Holy SHIT!" Whiskey stated jumping back away from the window, one hand pressed against her chest. "And just what the fuck were you tryin' ta do!? Give me a god damn heart attack!?" she asked, swinging herself in through the window and greeting Winter's smirk with one of her own.

"Wheah da hell is Bittah held up? I'se come ta set her free!" Whiskey stated swinging her arms about grandiosely and bowing deeply.

"Shaddup an' folla me, knock four times den pick da lock," Winter said, showing her the door, then whisking herself away, leaving Whiskey to her own. 

Bitter awoke as she heard the four knocks and pulled on some decent clothes, rushing towards the door, hearing Whiskey's careful picking of the lock. She jumped back as she the door opened and gasped at Whiskey's pale and tired appearance. "Jesus Whiskey ya look like hell," she said. 

Whiskey just rolled her eyes and shut the door, "Shit, no window!" she muttered. 

Bitter just smirked, "Spot knows me too well," she said quietly, as if the walls were listening to them.

Which was not too far from the truth as they reopened the door, only to see an angry looking Spot staring back at them, his arms crossed. "Oh shit," both Whiskey and Bitter said. 

"Pyro, some help!" Bitter called to the small girl who was making her way down the hall. Pyro smiled and pulled out her matches, lighting the bottom of Spot's shirt on fire. While he started to yell and try to put it out, the girls slipped by and out of the bunkroom window. They had shut it and made it down the fire escape when they heard Spot hollering that they would be in big trouble. 

Bitter just looked at Whiskey and they both cracked up, obviously enjoying Spot's anger tantrums. "So, what you wanna do now?" Bittah asked. 

"Whatta I wanna do? We can start with getting the hell outta here! A charred Spot ain't ezactly the type of 'welcome back' I expected...but damn, it's good ta se ya again!" Whiskey stated, talking a mile a minute as they hurried through the alleys as fast as they could comfortably go. "Specs was pretty nice, and Haz visited every once in a while, but other den dat it was boring as hell in Manhattan! Locked in some lil' room against me will!" she stated, shaking her fist in the sky as if cursing the heavens themselves.

"Whoa, calm down, yer doin' the talkin'-too-fast-foh-me-ta-folla-ya thing again!" Bitter stated as they began to slow, a grin still plastered across her face.

"Sorry 'bout....fuck." Whiskey stated throwing herself back into the shadows of the mouth of the alley they had just exited, dragging a confused Bitter with her and pinning both of them to the wall.

"What the fuck is your problem? Just 'cause I'se on the mend don't give ya the right ta try an' put me back in dat damn infirmary!" Bitter whispered harshly, before seeing Whiskey's wide light green eyes and the snarl on her face that clearly meant 'don't give me your shit.'

Whiskey cocked an eyebrow at Bitter and whispered back, "Our favorite punchin' bag id right outside dis alley, an' I suah as hell don't wanna be in that sick room any more!

Bitter nodded her head and slowly eased herself out from under the arm Whiskey had used to pin her to the wall, moving stealthily to the edge to catch a glimpse of Trick. Whiskey was right, he was so close she was practically breathing down his neck. She listened to the enraged muttering as Trick took a drag off of his cigarette. Pain had etched itself into his features, making him appear even more dangerous than before as he ranted quietly to himself like a madman.

"Whassat he's sayin'?" Whiskey whispered, joining Bitter at the mouth of the alley, still hidden by the shadows.

"Sumthin' about a fire...fucker's talkin' like you after nursin' a bottle!" Bitter growled a bit frustrated, pushing Whiskey into her place. 

"Fekin' madman's what yer dealin' wit! He ain't makin' any sense, switching from one thought to another...all I'se can make out from me arse of a Scottsman is that he's plannin' ta hold some meetin' at dere lodgin' house...ooo, very creative curse dere...I'll have ta remember dat one...now he's ramblin' on about how if he evah lays eyes on ya again he'll feckin' malkie ya witout a second thought, and dat," Whiskey ceased translating as she threw herself and Bitter back against the wall of the alley as Trick flicked a cigarette into the gutter and walked past them.

"Damn, dat was close," Whiskey stated, letting out the breath she had been holding. "Sorry 'bout the whole attempt at givin' ya a concussion thing...twice...but I really don' wanna see ya malkied!"

"Feelin's mutual," Bitter stated brushing herself off and righting her cap over her only slightly ruffled blond hair. 

"So dat means we'se gonna go spy on de meetin' dere havin'?" Bitter asked with a smirk planted firmly on her lips as she forced herself to ignore the pain coming from her head.

Whiskey half-smirked, limping out of the shadows, "Yeah, but how do you propose we don't get caught?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked over Bitter's ragged appearance and then looking down at her hurt leg. 

Bitter smirked, "Well, my plan involves another goil or two if yer willing ta go back to the LH for a few minutes," she said, crossing her arms and looking around the corner to see if the coast was clear.

Whiskey sighed, "Well, I guess we got no choice right?" she said, not sure that it was the best plan in the world.

"Well, it's either that or watch me get malkied!" she said, imitating Whiskey's accent.

"Hey, you pickin' dat up pretty easily, wheah'd ya loin dat?" Whiskey asked, looking straight into Bitter's eyes as Bitter avoided looking at her.

Bitter coughed slightly, looking around before composing herself and smirked up at Whiskey, looking her straight in the eye, "I lived on de streets for most a' me life right? Well, how de hell do you think I kept meself alive? I didn't know how ta fight when I was young, so I used all sorts of accents ta keep me alive, took to it, saved me from mobsters and all sorts of drunks," she said, brushing Whiskey off as she started to apologize and walked quickly out of the alley. 

"Jist don't bring it up again anytime soon," Bitter muttered quietly, but loud enough for Whiskey to hear. 

The rest of the walk back they did not talk at all, both girls lost in their own thoughts and memories. They got to the back entrance of the Brooklyn Lodging House in no time and found themselves halting to a stop as they saw the building. There was a start of a fire at the back end and the two girls looked at each other and then ran towards the building, screaming "fire" over and over again. 

Bitter attempted to stomp out as much of the fire as possible, but alone it was of no use. Soon the newsies came running, buckets of water in their hands, others with big blankets to pat the fire out with. Within time the fire was out and no one seemed to be hurt, with minimal damage done to the building. Bitter slipped into the shadows as she caught sight of Spot, his face black with soot and a fierce look showing through.

Bitter crept through the shadows, looking for Whiskey, who was missing at the moment. Someone grabbed her arm and she turned to see Whiskey, two girls in tow. "Fade, Rook," Bitter said, nodding as she acknowledged the girls. 

"First two I found, they already know wheah we're goin' an' all, so let's scram before Spot realizes we were heah an' stole two of his goils ta come wit us," Whiskey said, tugging at Bitter's sleeve. 

Bitter nodded, looking back at the lh before turning and following Whiskey.

"So, what de hell are we doin'?" Rook asked as the four girls marched quickly in the direction of Harlem. 

"Well, we'se gonna hurry our asses ovah ta Harlem ta pay Trick an' Switch a lil visit," Whiskey stated casually, as if running into the same people that had hospitalized she and Bitter a while back was nothing more than a stroll through Central Park.

Fade stared at Whiskey incredulously. "You'se kiddin', right?"

"Hell no she ain't!" Bitter declared, snagging the cigarette from Fade's hand and taking a long hit off of it before passing it back to her.

"Well Whisk heah told us dat we was needed for some 'portant business, but she didn't mention dat business havin' anything to do wit dose slime," Rook spat out viciously.

"Calm yerself, it ain't like we'se gonna be seen by da fuckers or anythin'! We'se just gonna spy on de bastards from de fire escape or de rafters of dat nasty ol warehouse dey call a lodgin' house." Whiskey tried to place a hand on Rook's shoulder, but it was quickly shrugged off. _Damn, if we'se pissed off Rook enough ta get a reaction outta her, den dis must really scare de shit outta her... _

"Listen, you'se can be our watchgoil if ya like, tell us if de bastards are comin' or not..." Whiskey trailed off, placing her hand once again on the shoulder of Rook, who had become quite stoic since her little outburst, and this time, it was not shaken away.

Rook grunted what sounded affirmative as the girls continued their walk to the lh.

The girls reached the crummy looking building in no time at all, even with Whiskey's obvious limp. They crept over to the rusted fire escape as soon as they saw it and found they had a problem. 

"Uh Whiskey?" Bitter asked, raising an eyebrow as she showed Whiskey the ancient looking lock that was quite enormous. 

She gazed at it for a second and then looked back at Bitter. "Can ya pick it?" she asked. 

Bitter sighed, "Yeah, I'se more likely ta get it unlocked den anyone else heah," she said, pulling out her little tool case. Each second felt like an hour as Bitter prodded at the old lock. She smiled as she heard a slight click and turned to the girls, lock in hand. 

She was so excited that she did not see that the fire escape would come down once she had removed the lock and it barely missed her body as it clattered down, making a terrible noise. Bitter's eyes widened and she grabbed Whiskey and the two girls, jumping for the nearest alley. No one came by as they waited patiently for a few minutes and so they snuck back out carefully, climbing up the fire escape one at a time, Whiskey insisting on going last as she was the slowest with her injury. 

Bitter shoved Fade in front of her and then waved down to Rook who stood with her arms crossed, watching them ascend up to the roof. 

"Alright now, stick ta da plan," Bitter stated as they crouched down below the window to the bunkroom, a nearly perfect position considering they could pick up bits and pieces of the conversation from below.

"Plan? And ta think, all dis time I just thought we'se was hangin' round heah foh da fun a it," Whiskey whispered harshly, then shut up after Fade shot her a dirty look. 

Bitter brought her finger up to her lips in the universal sign for "Shhh!" and the three girls strained their ears in an attempt to pick up the scattered conversation from a floor below.

After several minutes of jumbled conversation Bitter threw her hands up frustrated. "Dis id fuckin' useless!" Bitter stated as she removed her cap, ran a hand through her hair and replaced the cap with a huff.

"Naw it ain't, we'se just gotta get in a little closer," Whiskey stated with a devilish look as she turned around quickly and surveyed the bunkroom. "Empty."

Fade visibly paled at the borderline maniacal gleam to Whiskey's eyes. "No way. You'se two can go an' get ya selves killed, but me? I prefer all me limbs in one position." 

Bitter was hesitant to agree with the sound of Whiskey's plan at first, it sounded a bit too reckless, even for them. But after a couple minutes of tense silence she nodded her head affirmatively. "Okay den, Fade, I want ya to go tell Rook dat if she's seein' anybody leave da common room down deah dat she should whistle ta get yer attention, and from there you whistle ta get ours. Got it?"

Fade nodded her head and hurried back down the fire escape as quiet as she could. After revealing the new plan to Rook, Fade waved Whiskey and Bitter along, giving them the okay to continue as she shimmied back up the fire escape.


	10. Cozing up to Spot

Bitter went in first, swinging feet first in through the window and then helping Whiskey once she hit the floor. Bitter crept towards the door and leaned down near the cracks, listening for Trick's voice. It was not too long until his voice beamed from below and Bitter smirked at Whiskey, motioning for her to come closer to the door.

"Dis week will be full a' wonderful victories for us all if you bums do ezactly what I tell ya ta do," Trick said, almost yelling at the talking newsies. "I'se got a great plan an' wit my great leadahship we'll be able ta take Brooklyn ovah by de end of de week," he stated loudly, followed by many voices cheering in the background. 

Bitter snarled, "Right, like dat's gonna happen," she whispered to Whiskey who scowled back at her, hushing her right away as Trick began to speak again.

"We go aftah de main fightahs, de strongest boys, an' de strongest goils," he said, "One by one we'll soak dem 'til dere's barely anyone worth worrying about. An' dat is when we go aftah de leadah a' Brooklyn, Spot Conlon hisself."

There were more cheers and neither of the girls heard another word for there was a strange tapping at the window. Fade was coughing and holding her throat as she kicked the window hard, motioning for the girls to get out of there. Bitter instinctively shoved Whiskey out in front of her and tripped over her own feet, barely catching herself as she fell. Whiskey got through the window and looked wildly back at Bitter, who was lifting herself up from the ground as the door behind her slowly opened. 

Bitter turned around and sprinted for the window, which Whiskey was just hopping out of and made it through, shutting the window behind her. Seeing a familiar face appear on the other side of it, she hissed at Whiskey to move faster and practically slid down the fire escape behind Whiskey, hearing the window open and voices screaming after her. Nothing stopped the four girls as they ran practically all the way to Brooklyn, Bitter pulling Whiskey along beside herself. 

Whiskey and Bitter stopped right outside of the lodging house, watching Rook and Fade run through the doors without stopping. Bitter tried to catch her breath as she grabbed Whiskey and pulled her around the back way. "Can ya handle stairs?" she asked Whiskey, who's face was illuminated with pain. 

Whiskey shook her head and Bitter sighed, pulling her towards the back door, both of them entering as quietly as they possibly could. 

Although it did not really matter whether they were quiet or not, considering the lodging house was already in an uproar. Bitter and Whiskey could have kicked open the back door and still not have been noticed. The two proceeded to inch their way up the steps to the bunkroom, trying to stay in the shadows and not draw attention to themselves. They were almost at their destination when none other than Spot Conlon blocked their way, an arm extended casually across the stairwell.

"Bittah, Whiskey," he acknowledged, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary that they would be seen together, even after he had gone to great lengths to dissuade contact between the two. "You mind tellin' me what da hell's goin' on here? I jus' don' like bein' left in da dark," he finished sarcastically as he coolly eyed the two.

"Listen, cuz I ain't sayin' it twice. Trick's got himself a plan," Bitter started before being interrupted by Whiskey.

"Damn good one too, solid, if not just a little cliche..." Whiskey trailed off, the cynicism ruined as soon as Bitter elbowed her in the gut.

Spot's eyes narrowed and grew cold at this news. "I don' even wanna know how you'se found out dat kinda information," he trailed off, running a hand over his face in frustration. "You was sayin'?"

Whiskey left Bitter's side and hobbled into the bunkroom, letting Bitter and Spot discuss what had happened. All she could process at the moment was pain, and would not have been much help. _Unless cynical, snide comments are considered helpful_...she thought with a small smirk as she moved her leg the wrong way, hissed in pain, and lost consciousness.

"You was sayin'?" Spot prompted for the second time, as Bitter watched Whiskey make her way to the bunkroom.

"Yeah, well, dey got dis great idea dat da way ta take ovah Brooklyn is ta go about soakin' all our best goils and boys, so dat all dey got left ta deal wit is weaklings...although I don' think dat any a our boys could be considered weak," she trailed off, trying to read the reaction on Spot's face. 

"Fuckers. Dey'se already doin' dat," Spot stated contemptuously, malice filling his ice-cold eyes.

Bitter shifted uncomfortably and leaned against the wall behind her. "You wanna heah dis or not," she said, leaving her mouth open in shock as she saw Whiskey's body crumpled up on the ground. 

Spot turned around to see what she was gaping at and sighed, "Damnit," he said, watching Bitter hurry over to her unconscious friend and trying to lift her up by herself. Spot shook his head and helped Bitter carry Whiskey to her bunk. "Go get Doc?" Bitter suggested, too shocked to demand anything from him. 

Spot frowned and left the room reluctantly, hoping they would have a chance to talk later on in the evening to get things cleared up. Bitter took out a handkerchief and wiped Whiskey's face off, making the girl twitch and regain consciousness.

"'Mornin' sunshine," Bitter said with a smirk.

Whiskey groaned, "What de hell…" she muttered under her breath as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, only to have Bitter push her down, her stern look enough to keep Whiskey still. "Ya didn't get.." Whiskey started, her question finished as Doc waltzed into the room, arms crossed. 

"I leave you two alone for long enough an' ya get hoit or pass out," she stated, glancing over Whiskey. 

"What's it dis time, yer leg?" she asked, examining her bad leg. Whiskey replied with a yelp as Doc touched her weak leg, receiving a concerned look from Doc. 

"I'se gonna wrap dis, an' I want ya in bed for at least two days an' I mean it dis time, or I'll get ya in de sick room," Doc said, pulling out some bandages from her bag. 

Whiskey was still dazed and a tad bit confused at what had happened. Because, damnit. Rourkes. Don't. Faint. "Shit, Doc! Two whole days? Ya know how much shit id gonna go down in two days?!" she made a guttural, frustrated "argh" when Doc's only response was a unconcerned shrug.

"I can't stay in one place for two days! It's not gonna work, it's against me nature! Even if I want to folla yer orders an keep all bedridden an shit, me feet got a mind a dere own..." Whiskey warned Doc in whispers under her breath, causing Doc to wrap a little bit harsher than before. Whiskey became extremely quiet, waiting for Doc to finish her very painful business.

Bitter just looked at the scene with a small smirk on her face, knowing that the tables were turned this time, Whiskey bedridden and she up and about. "You hoid da docta, Whisk! No movin' from dat spot fer two days!" Bitter stated, the same small smirk plastered across her face.

"Spot," Whiskey stated seriously, "You can't condemn me ta dis. Dis id ridiculous, and me leg works fine!"

"Which id why ya fainted halfway inta da bunkroom? Nevah figured ya would be da faintin' type," Spot stated, knowing that accusing her of being the 'fainting type' would just piss her off more.

"I'm not, and I didn't, Rourkes. Don't. Faint. I just lost me bearings fer a second, I'se fine now, honest," Whiskey protested as Doc finished wrapping her leg.

"Sorry Whisk, but da doc said you'se gotta stay dere, nuthin' I kin do bout dat," Spot stated as he grasped Bitter's arm and led her out of the bunkroom, closing the door behind him and eager to continue the conversation they had started.

"You was sayin'?" Spot urged.

"Well," Bitter started, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, "Dey said something about a rumble, a quite unfair one, dirty fighting and they plan to either kill you or who knows what else." Bitter paused to watch Spot's face fill up with anger. 

"And…" Spot said through gritted teeth.

Bitter sighed, "Dey're gonna try an' take over Brooklyn once an' for all, who knows what dey got planned for dose of us newsies dat our still alive…"she trailed off, her face scrunched up with thought and disgust.

Spot shook his head, letting a deep breath out while rubbing his forehead while he cursed under his breath. 

Bitter just frowned and was about to say something when the door opened and Whiskey grabbed Bitter by the shirt, dragging her into the room and locking Spot out, throwing chairs up against the door. Bitter rose an eyebrow. "An' what de hell is she doin'?" she asked a very calm Doc. 

Doc shrugged, "She wants ta break out or something, don't like de idea of stayin' in bed. Of coise dat's what she said, I think she's jist got a death wish," she said with a small smirk. 

Bitter grabbed Whiskey's arm and pulled her over to the bed forcefully, making her sit down. "You need yer damn rest, an' don't you dare say I'm sidin' wit Conlon, 'cause I ain't," she started. "Listen, if we go out dere in our condition, esp. wit yer limp, den we'se ain't gonna come back in one piece ya heah me?" she said, pausing to glare at Whiskey, who was looking at the ground, glaring at the door as loud bangs sounded, Spot obviously trying to break through. 

Whiskey looked up for a brief second and nodded. "Yeah I heah ya," she said with a frown.

"Well den heah dis too Whiskey. Harlem is jist waitin' for a chance to hoit us bad, any of de newsies, but mostly us, an' we ain't in de condition to run or fight," Bitter said, stopping as she got a strange look from Whiskey.

"I have a plan," Bitter said finally, and shook her head as she saw Whiskey's face light up with a smirk.

"Well let's heah it," Whiskey exclaimed. 

Bitter gave a glare to Doc, who just rolled her eyes and quickly moved the furniture, stepping out of the room. 

Once Bitter was satisfied with Doc and Spot yelling, she continued. "Airight, we humor Spot, I'll take it easy an' you stay in bed for two days, den we lay low, I ain't lettin' ya fight until that leg is in good condition," Bitter said, looking sternly at Whiskey who just held up her hands in defense.

"Airight, airight, we have a deal," Whiskey said, spitshaking with Bitter just as Spot stormed into the room.

"What de hell is goin' on?" he said, seeing the two girls smirking at each other.

Bitter got up quickly, watching Whiskey lay down and then pushing past Spot, "Jist talkin' sense inta Whiskey," she stated before leaving the room. 

"Yep Spot, I'se gonna try me part at bein' bed ridden," Whiskey stated with one of the biggest, most condescending smiles she could muster.

Spot gave her a weary look of suspicion and backed out of the room, slowly, to go track down Bitter. Whiskey eased herself under the blanket of the bunk and resigned herself to playing the part of a lazy bum for all it was worth, a smirk still on her face as she recalled Spot's confused look when Bitter broke the news to him.

~ ~ ~

"Hey! Wait up!" Spot yelled after Bitter's disappearing figure. 

Bitter pretended not to hear him as she hurried off to the bathroom. He lost sight of her as he turned a corner and threw up his arms. He sat down on the ground, too exhausted to move. Night after night Spot had stayed up worrying about the two girls and although he was tough, he was not immortal and needed sleep too.

He fell asleep on the ground, to be found by an amused Bitter, who kicked him lightly in the stomach to wake him up. "C'mon mutt, you need rest," she said, holding her hand out to him. 

Spot gladly took it, letting her lead him to his room. "Go on, get in bed an' get some sleep," she said, following him to the bed and watching him sit down, kicking off his shoes before climbing in.

"G'night," she said, watching him yawn. 

The yawn was contagious, seeing as Bitter yawned after Spot did, making him laugh.

"I think me Bittah needs some sleep too," he said, grabbing Bitter around the waist and pulling her into bed with him, not getting as much resistance as he thought he would.

"Spot, de boys are gonna get de wrong idea," she said, a bit sleepily. Spot just wrapped his arms tighter around her in response, wanting her by his side for the night.

"Hmm, I'm not tired Spot, I swear," she muttered, yawning again.

He smirked, "Suah ya ain't," he said.

She shook her head, but just laid there, resting peacefully in his arms. "So what are you an' Whiskey plannin' anyways?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

Bitter groaned, attempting to pry his arms away from her body. "I knew dis was one a' yer tricks," she said, her voice getting very serious.

"Aw c'mon Bittah, I know you two are up ta something. Spill it," he said, keeping his arms around her body, knowing Bitter was too weak to fight much.

She shook her head, "Spot, I swear ta gawd..." she started, turning around to face him, his arms not budging from their position around her body. Spot leaned in and kissed her, shutting her up instantly. 

She let the kiss last, but did not give him the pleasure of letting him deepen it. He soon let his lips trail off her own and raised an eyebrow. "Yer still mad," he said, affirming it to himself rather than asking her. 

Bitter smirked and turned her body around so she was not facing him. She let Spot try to convince her to tell him her plans, but she just ignored his questions, closing her eyes and trying to sleep. He tried to persuade her with gifts of kisses all over her body, but she did not say a word.

Spot soon gave up and closed the distance between their bodies, keeping his arm wrapped around her as he shut his eyes, muttering "I love you" before he fell asleep. "Love you too," Bitter said with a smile, adding "mutt" after he kissed her neck one last time. 

~ ~ ~

"Watta fuk?" Whiskey murmured as the bright purple, eight-legged dog continued to poke her in the shoulder...wait...that was a finger, not a paw. Her eyes opened slowly and focused on her surroundings, trying to figure out just who the offending finger belonged to. Specs.

"Watta fuk you doin' heah?" she asked, ever so ladylike as she ran a hand through heavily tangled hair, and busied the other with wiping a small trail of drool from the corner of her mouth. "Jack ain't kicked ya out, has he?" Whiskey joked with a smile as she tried to forcefully remove her hand from the auburn rats nest it had been attempting to smooth.

"Naw, jus thought I'd come an' see me goil, even if she did trick me inta givin' her an opportunity to sneak outta da lodgin' house," Specs stated, removing his bowler and letting his brown locks hang around his temples loosely.

"Yeah, well ya goil was tired a bein' treated like a damn invalid jus cuz she happened ta have a little bit a leg problem," Whiskey stated, much more clearly than earlier, and hopefully making a bit more sense than earlier. "Anyways, I'se back wheah I belong, an' dere ain't no way you'se can get me ta go back ta Manhattan witcha!"

Specs smiled at her declaration and cleared his voice. "Well, den it's a good thing I ain't plannin' on draggin' ya back, considerin' Spot's already found some way ta keep ya in bed, wheah ya belong, until yas bettah," he finished as Whiskey scowled.

"Yeah, yeah...well, you don't know all da details, now do ya?" she stated with a mischievous smirk.

"An' he never will," Bitter stated, making the couple look up. Her hair was everywhere and she had a sleepy smirk on her face, looking better than she had all week.

Whiskey smirked, "Looks like someone slept well," she muttered, unhappy that she had not.

"Yeah well when ya got a gorgeous guy sleeping next to you..." she started, trailing off as she got a look of shock from Whiskey.

"An' no, I didn't tell dat mutt anything Whiskey, although he cuts a good bargain," Bitter added, smirking as Specs' face flustered a little at what he thought she meant by that.

"Specs, don't think such things, an' leave me an Whiskey be so we can talk goil stuff," she said, shoving him out of the room and locking the door behind him.

"So?" Whiskey asked. An inquiring smirk graced Whiskey's face as her light green eyes danced with mischief. Bitter could tell Whiskey had already come to her own conclusions about what had happened between Spot and her, and she just sat there with a content little smile on her face as she watched Whiskey grow more and more perturbed.

After several moments of prodding Bitter for details Whiskey sighed and placed her hands on Bitter's shoulder. "Bittah, I'se ya best friend! Ya can tell me if ya fucked Spot, I won' think any less a ya!" Whiskey stated, knowing that mentioning the words 'fucked' and 'Spot' in the same sentence would elicit a reply from Bitter. Sure enough, moments later Whiskey found herself pushed back onto the pillow she'd raised herself from as a red faced Bitter looked down at her.

With a cackle she raised herself back up onto her elbows. "Well, at least I got a reaction outta ya!" Whiskey stated with a grin as she watched Bitter's semi-angry face crack into a smile.

"No. We didn' "fuck" as ya so delicately worded it," Bitter stated with a smile, "Jist slept tagether."

"Ah." Whiskey stated with a sarcastic nod. "Well don't dat just explain everythin'!"

"Shaddup!" Bitter stated with a grin as she knocked Whiskey's elbow out from under her, causing her to collapse with an unladylike "Ooof!"

Bitter laughed as the composed Whiskey went down. "So," she stated, changing the subject quickly, to avoid any retaliation on Whiskey's part, "You really plannin' on followin' through wit da docta's ordas?"

Whiskey frowned a bit, but nodded grudgingly. "Yeah, ain't no way Trick's gonna organize dat big of a rumble in two days time. 'Sides, I ain't gonna be in no condition foh da rumble if I'se don' get me act tagether," Whiskey admitted, running a hand over her tired face. A face that had seen its share of pain in the past month, the remnants of lines still hanging around the grimace she now wore as she moved her leg a little.

"You go on, 'sleep wit Spot' some more," Whiskey stated with a smile as she laid back down on the pillow. "An' send Specs in when you'se leave, I could use me own sleepin' buddy," Whiskey finished with a wink as Bitter chuckled lightly, retreating from the room.

~ ~ ~ 


	11. Heated scene REEAAALLLLYYY HEATED!

Bitter did not have a pleasant time while Whiskey was bedridden. Spot spent practically every minute with her, making sure she would not be up to trouble, while trying to convince her to spill all the plans that he "knew she and Whiskey made." Bitter just ignored him to her best ability, usually taking off on a quick sprint to show him she meant business when he got too annoying. 

Bitter would go visit Whiskey in bed, who was quite content bedridden, especially when Specs was around to keep her company. Bitter would go on and on about Spot's protective behavior and his prodding questions, which only made Whiskey laugh. "Serves ya right," Whiskey said, arm looped around Specs as Bitter told one of her outlandish situations with Spot.

Bitter threw her arms up in the air and growled lowly, stomping out of the room for the fourth time that week. She was going crazy with her lack of freedom from the past week and was sick of being treated like some criminal. So what did she do? Well, that's a very good question.

Being quite sneaky, Bitter found a way around seeing Spot for the day, waiting until he was heavily involved in a poker game, too involved to notice her slipping up the stairs. She made her way to the bunkroom, tiptoeing past Specs and Whiskey, who were happily asleep in each other's arms. The window was open and she easily got through without making so much as a single creak. She slid down the fire escape and ran off for a quick midnight swim by herself.

Of course, it was just like Bitter to take all the back routes, the darkened alleyways filled with all sorts of villains lurking in the shadows of the seemingly deserted alleys. She was fully on guard like usual, but when someone wanted something bad enough, the victim could never be too ready. 

She reached the docks without a hitch, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face at the accomplishment. _Protection_, she scoffed. _Who da hell needs it_... she thought as she reached 'her' pier, which was predictably empty. The moonlight shined down softly on the docks, barely illuminating the inky black water around it. Bitter looked left, then right. No one in sight. Within seconds she had stripped down to her underclothes and slipped silently into the water. For several minutes she effortlessly gilded through the water, cutting swift strokes through the crisp, uninhabited water. 

As she swam she thought; of Spot's recent behavior, of Trick's "plan," and most of all, of Whiskey's cheerful disposition, regardless of being bedridden. _If I had a man like Specs keepin' me company I'd probably be pretty damn cheerful too, that boy is wrapped around her fingertip_, Bitter thought with a sigh, wishing that Spot were just a tad bit more manageable. Bitter shook her head back and forth in dismay at the thought and spoke aloud with a small chuckle. "If Spot were even half da wimp dat Specs id, I don't think I could stand him. Dat's why ya like him, Bittah, he's tough, ambitious, an I bet he's a stallion in bed..." Bitter thought aloud as she turned back towards the docks and drew herself out of the water, still thinking about Spot, and wondering if he lived up to his reputation as a sex god. 

Rushing over to the crate where she had deposited her clothing, Bitter searched for her pants. "Shit! Where da hell are dey?!" she asked to no one in particular with a half-growl.

"Lookin' fer dese, doll?" a husky voice asked from the alley.

Bitter froze in her tracks, her eyes growing wide at the threat as she blushed with embarrassment, which soon turned to rage. "You will give me those back," she stated, her eyes narrowing as her hand reached out, demanding the articles of clothing as she glared into the shadows.

The voice spoke again, "I dunno, you ain't lookin' half bad stripped down an' jussa 'bout as naked as da day ya was born."

Bitter grew flushed at the comment as she advanced upon the shadow, not caring whom it was. The only thoughts that consumed her mind now were getting her clothes back, and kicking the shit out of the intruder. The interloper stepped out of the alley, keeping in the shadows as he dangled her pants temptingly out of grasp as she advanced upon him.

The moment she reached him she was instantly pinned against the wall, the uneven bricks pressing harshly into her back, as the figure molded himself against her. Bitter was cursing vehemently the entire time, struggling against the steely grip he had around her hands, which were conveniently pinned above her head.

"Shhh," the shadowy figure asked once more, succeeding in ceasing Bitter's tirade with a harsh and needy kiss, a familiar kiss, a kiss that she willingly intensified upon realizing the identity of the prowler. Bitter moaned against his lips, as his grasp loosened and he put his hands to better use, roving them up and down her sides.

"Christ, Spot! What da fuck were ya tryin' ta do?" Bitter asked, pulling away from Spot and looking him in the eye, trying to regain a fraction of her former rage, anything strong enough to break through the hazy lust that had taken its place.

Spot just smirked and pinned Bitter once more. "Jus' teachin' ya a lesson. I'se told ya a million times not ta go wanderin' around at night alone. Bad things can happen ta people who do dat," he stated, letting his lips resume their lazy path from her temple to her collarbone.

Bitter moaned and tried weakly to push Spot away, fighting the internal battle of whether or not to let him continue whatever it was he was doing that felt so good, or to draw the line and put her foot down with a forceful "No." The hedonist in Bitter won out as she yielded to his roaming lips, freeing her hands and drawing his chin upwards to plant an eager and needy kiss on his waiting lips as she threw her arms around his neck.

She fought the emotional torrent that was rushing through her. The only sexual encounter she had ever had was a nightmare, a memory she would much rather erase from her mind, and that nagging memory plagued her as she and Spot went at it. On the other hand this felt far better than anything she had ever tried before, it came almost naturally, she thought as she tugged at Spot's bottom lip with her teeth, much more aggressively then she ever thought she was capable of doing.

Spot broke the passionate interchange and leaned back a bit to look her in the eyes. "We'se don' hafta do anythin' you ain't ready foh," he stated seriously, his brow furrowing in concern as a smirk dangled at the edge of his lips.

Bitter thought for a moment before breaking into a smile and ruffling his hair, his cap having already been knocked off in the previous encounter. She pulled him close by his suspenders and whispered breathily in his ear. "I'se ready foh ya, Spot."

The divulgence set Spot's face agleam. His eyes twinkled with mirth and his face broke into a rarely seen smile. "Well den, whatta we waitin' foh? Dilly dallyin' in dis heah alley when we could be back at da lodgin' house…" Spot started suavely before being cut off by Bitter's concerned voice.

"Whatta 'bout da newsies? I mean, dey'se gonna know dat you, and I, dat we'se…" she stumbled uncomfortably, trying to come up with a word to describe it.

"Bittah," Spot stated with a devious little smirk, "You'se been sleepin' in me bed foh da past week. Even doh we ain't been doin' nothin', I'se suah dey'se already come ta dere own conclusions."

Bitter considered this for a moment before gathering her clothes and changing back into them. "Well den. What da hell we waitin' foh, mutt?"

They were a bit delayed in getting to the Lodging House, considering about every block or so they would take turns playfully pinning each other in a darkened alley, distracting them from their destination for a good half hour or so. When the two finally arrived, the Lodging House had gone quiet, the last of the poker games was wrapping up, and most of the newsies had already headed off to bed. The giddy couple made their way silently up the fire escape, slipping noiselessly into Spot's room.

Although they could not keep their hands off of each other the entire way back, after fulfilling their goal of making it back, an awkward silence took over as both nervously eyed one another. Bitter was busy comparing herself to all his past lovers, hoping that she would be able to satisfy him, and trying to reassure herself that she was ready to commit to Spot this way. Spot was equally as nervous, trying calm to his frazzled nerves. He felt like a virgin again, something he would have never thought possible. But that was the kind of effect Bitter had on him, he thought musingly as he devoured her with his eyes.

All the women in his past became inconsequential when pitted against the one standing in front of him, trying her best not to let her sudden case of nerves surface, after all, she had never been that good at admitting weakness. Spot smiled once more as he reached for her hand, which she supplied a little overeagerly. "Don' worry Bittah, I ain't goin' nowhere," he reassured her, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing it, slowly, attempting to relax her and get her back into the comfortable state she was in earlier in the evening.

"You sure you ready foh dis?" Spot asked once more as he led her to the bed. Even after pouring on the charm, and pulling out every trick he knew, Bitter was still a bit uneasy.

"Yes." Bitter eked out, unsure of why she was suddenly so nervous, especially after it had come so easily in the alleyway. "I'se sorry Spot, dunno why I'se so nervous, I mean, it was so easy back dere in da alley."

Spot just smirked and whipped his cap off. "Well, I remembah you runnin' ya hands through me hair, like dis," he stated, bringing her hand up and guiding it through his dark blonde locks. "And den we did somethin' like dis," Spot continued, pinning Bitter's arms above her head and working the same magic on her neck that he had earlier. "A course you wasn't wearin' as much clothes as ya are now," he stated between kisses, prompting a little chuckle from Bitter, who obligingly removed her outer clothes once more.

"Dat bettah?" she asked, the playfulness returning as Spot smirked appraisingly.

"Very much," Spot stated, removing his own shirt and encouraging Bitter to get accustomed to the feel of him by placing her hands on his bare chest as he continued to nibble at her neck and tease her through the thin fabric.

Bitter took to the guided 'lesson' quite well, and it was not long before the two back to the same heat they had felt back in the alley. Any thoughts of inadequacy were wiped from Bitter's mind as Spot continued to tease and tempt her, working her up to the point where contact with him was painfully pleasurable. It was at this peak, when she felt as if he withheld in any way she would simply die, that he ceased whispering sweet nothings and posed a serious question.

"Ya suah Bittah?"

"Yes," she answered breathily. "With you Spot, only with you," she whispered as Spot entered her slowly. Regardless of the fact that Bitter was not technically a 'virgin,' Spot still respected that it was her first time, and wanted to make it as memorable and pleasurable as he could.

"You okay?" he asked between kisses, a bit concerned as he watched her brow furrow. A languid smile spread across her face at the admission of his concern, and she found that a throaty "Mmm" was the only response she was capable of as Spot continued to thrust, slowly building up a rhythm with Bitter, a rhythm that had them both enthralled, completely oblivious to anything other than each other.

And as quickly as it had begun, in the alleyway, it ended. Both sated, lying content in each other's arms, as sleep claimed them.

~ ~ ~


	12. Aftermath

When Spot woke up the next morning, there was no trace of Bitter, which made him wonder if last night had only been a dream. He pulled on half of his clothes sleepily and walked out of the room, forgetting that he had not put on a shirt. Whiskey whistled amusedly as Spot entered the bunkroom, getting a foul look from Specs as she elicited a sharp catcall. "Well, looks like someone got a good night of sleep," Whiskey said with a knowing smile.

"Wheah is she?" Spot asked, glaring at Whiskey.

"Why who Spot?" Whiskey asked with a smirk.

"You know who I'm talking about," Spot replied, looking to Specs for help. 

"Well Bittah sulked outta heah in a hurry aftah ignoring my questions, probably goin' ta find a fight to blow off some bottled up emotions. Looks like you two did something last night," she insinuated, glowering as Spot practically steamed from the ears and ran out of the room in a hurry.

Sure enough, Bitter was out looking for trouble. After selling a decent amount of newspapers, she waltzed through the streets and alleys, looking for any sort of fight that she could involve herself in. She was having the worst luck and had almost given up when she heard some noises coming from an alley nearby.

Stepping into the alley, Bitter was shocked to find Trick by himself beating on a Brooklyn newsie, one of Spot's favorite fighters. The boy, called Foul, was on the ground, a bloody mess of bruises and broken bones. By the time she got over the shock of the situation in front of her, Trick had turned to her, wiping his blade of blood as a nasty grin crossed his face.

Bitter naturally went for her dagger, pulling it out just as Trick lunged at her, his blade aimed for her heart. Sparks flew as the metal hit each other explosively, making Trick flinch in surprise. "Nice ta see ya again Bittah," Trick snarled, fighting viciously, obviously wanting to kill her.

Only by skill did Bitter find herself pinning Trick to the wall, suspending any movement from his body as her dagger dangled dangerously close to his neck.

"Bittah!" a familiar voice hollered, breaking Bitter's concentration and grip on Trick. Trick seized the moment to catch Bitter off guard, leaving her with a "small scratch" on her lower arm, right above her hand, before leaving, running away at the sight of Spot. She cussed out his disappearing back, glaring quickly at Spot before she went over to Foul, picking him up easily into her arms. 

She pushed past Spot as he watched her, shocked that she could pick up a boy of Foul's size, him being husky and not at all light. He trailed behind her, reprimanding himself from almost putting Bitter into mortal danger.

Bitter only got as far as the main room before two boys took Foul from her hands and carried him upstairs to the overpopulated sick room. She sat down onto the couch with a sigh, ignoring the questions that were being shot at her and before long, got so fed up with the newsies' prodding that she got up, cursing and heading to the bathroom. Spot followed her and stood in the doorway, watching Bitter clean out her wound, which in worse condition than Bitter let on. 

"Bad cut," he stated from the doorway, receiving only a well-deserved glare from her.

"It's jist fine," she stated as she turned her arm away from his view to bandage it up neatly, knowing it was not deep enough to be anything Spot should concern himself with. She pushed past him, ignoring anything he said and going straight up to the bunkroom, taking a slight detour to see how Foul was doing. She took a quick peek and caught Needle's eye, who nodded slightly in her direction as she raised her eyebrows. 

Taking that as a good sign, she slipped carefully into the bunkroom, but not unnoticed. Whiskey was sitting up, smirking at her, eyes glowing with questions. "So Bittah, what did you two do last night? I won't think any less of ya if ya tell me," Whiskey said, motioning for Bitter to come and sit next to her.

Bitter just shook her head and walked hurriedly towards the window, opening it quickly. Before Whiskey could say another word, Bitter hissed a "leave me the fuck alone" and heaved herself through the window, shutting it before she climbed up to the roof to get some well deserved alone time.

Whiskey smirked once more and settled back in her temporary sick bed. Spot entered the room soon after, a look of worry furrowing his brow. 

"Spot." Whiskey acknowledged, nodding in his direction and receiving nothing more than a grunt for her efforts. Spot sighed and made his way over to the bed, taking a seat.

Whiskey hissed out an icy warning as Spot sat dangerously close to her bad leg, pinching the blanket around it. "Watch da leg, Spotty-boy. I'm suah you'd love ta see me bed ridden' fer another week or so, but I'se more den ready ta get outta dis damn bunk."

"Listen sugah, right now I'se don' give a damn 'bout yer well-being," he began, pausing to compose himself and fight back the snarl that had threatened to surface. When he began once more it was barely a whisper. "I'se worried 'bout Bittah." He ran a hand over his weary face. "Really worried."

Whiskey frowned at the admission. "Well, is dere any reason Bittah may be havin' dese conflictin' emotions? I mean, one minute she's perfectly normal, and da next she's tellin' me ta fuck off. 'Course I deserved it, but nevah da less, if ya want my help I'se gonna need a few more details..." she trailed off, giving Spot the most compassionate look she could muster up.

"Well..." Spot started, a small frown on his face as he began to debate whether or not to seek Whiskey's help and reveal the intimate details of Bitter and his life. "We'se kinda...went a little further last night den in da past, an' den dis mornin' she was gone."

Whiskey sighed and then swung her legs out of bed. Spot's eyes grew wide in warning as he saw her on the verge of breaking her promise and getting up and about. "Relax, Spot, I'se just gonna go up ta da roof an' try ta an' clean up dis mess dat ya created. Dere ain't nothin' you can do ta fix it cuz she needs her space from ya at da moment, so jus' kick back an' if ya hear me screamin' from da roof, come rescue me from a semi-maniacal Bittah."

Spot frowned, but didn't attempt to stop Whiskey as she made her slow progression to the fire escape.

Bitter tensed as some 'thumps' were heard below her, the noises coming from the fire escape. From the slowness of them, she knew it was Whiskey. She moved over to the other side of the roof and closed the distance between her and the edge of the roof.

"I don't wanna talk about it," she stated from her perch as Whiskey climbed over the edge of the roof with difficulty.

"Well too bad," Whiskey said with a huff, out of breath from her sudden exercise. 

Bitter took a secret vow of silence and dared not to look over at Whiskey. She knew she couldn't deny her friend of the truth when looking her in the face. 

"Bittah, I know it was a big commitment you made last night, wit yer past an' all…"

Bitter just sighed as Whiskey paused to take in a deep breath. Whiskey was hoping to strike a nerve or at least say something to elicit a reply from her. "But at least Spot looked like he enjoyed it," Whiskey smirked, nervously awaiting her answer.

"Oh shut it Whiskey," Bitter murmured, trying not to let the small smile that was threatening to come cut into her cold look of indifference.

"He looked very very worried Bittah, which means dat he _really_ enjoyed last night," Whiskey tried again, seeing the corners of Bitter's mouth twitch.

"Well if he had as a good of a time as I did…" Bitter let slip out, a devious smirk on her face. 

Whiskey chuckled. "See, I knew you were still in there somewhere, didn' want de iceman takin' ovah me dearest pal," she smirked, glad to get a rise out of her.

"Now get yer arse ovah heah an' tell me whad de hell yer problem is, you have a gorgeous sex god to keep you warm durin' cold, lonely nights, which is more den me. Damn rat bastahd takin' Specs away from me," Whiskey said; seriousness was never her featured emotion.


End file.
